


Promise Not to Tell

by PAW_07



Series: Promise Not to Tell Series [1]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Humor, Complete, F/M, Genderbending, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-11-12 23:02:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 152,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PAW_07/pseuds/PAW_07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bumblebee has been harboring a secret for as long as he's existed and Bee stresses HE. The problem is that with the Allspark gone his race is as good as extinct save for a little secret of Bee's that he's willing to do almost anything to keep. Not that fate or Sam are offering much help in that request. 2007 movieverse. Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Little Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, one of my favorites. Lots of sexual tension here but mostly the fear of ones own sexuality in this fic.

Bee was scared of his fellow soldiers, his companions, and his brothers in arms. He wasn’t scared of them in a general sense, but what would happen if they ever found out about his little secret … a secret he had bore in silence since the day his creator grabbed him by his wrist and dragged him into her workshop. Yes, Bee’s creator and first caretaker had been a femme bot and a very strong one at that, known for her mechanical brilliance. Well, that’s what Bumblebee remembered her for … every one else remembered her because she _was_ one of the last femme bots in existence. Megatron had made sure of that.

And why were femme bots so dangerous to Megatron’s cause? Well, first a being must understand something… a femme bot was an extension for the Allspark in a way, yet femmes really weren’t that different from the regular transformers; it was just that their sparks had been created in such a way that they had been blessed with a larger fraction of the Allspark’s power. This allowed them the ability to create new sparks much like the Allspark itself. When it came straight down to it that’s all femmes had that was really different from their counterparts except for one external detail. The almost human like bosom that femmes had worn on their chassis was just an added detail after a transformer was found to be _blessed_ so the being could be easily recognized.

The thing was Megatron found that information offensive. What was the point of destroying an Autobot when another could be created and take its place? True, the Allspark did the same thing, but the trick with the Allspark was that it had no allegiances. When a new transformer was created it chose to be Decepticon or Autobot. The thing with femme-created transformers was that most femmes were on the Autobot side so thus were their creations as well … so one day in Megatron’s sick CPU he decided that it was time to end the Autobots naturally born recruits. Whoever owned the Allspark ruled … no shades of gray. Thus began his cold campaign to genocide the entire femme population. Neither be it known to the Autobots nor the Decepticons that the femmes had tried to save themselves and not just act like damsels in distress. Let’s just say Optimus’s story about the Allspark being _lost_ wasn’t entirely true. It was more like misplaced by a few femmes who were hoping that its disappearance would end this genocide, but this action was a little too late. Simply stated, Megatron succeeded on that one aspect of the war ...well, almost.

Bee looked down at _his_ flat chassis. Thank Primus for his creator’s workshop … and curse the Allspark for its mockery in making him this way.

XXX

Sam wasn’t a genius on any account, but you just learn things about people that don’t need words to be expressed. One of those things that didn’t need to be expressed was Bumblebee’s distaste for Ratchet naggings on checkups and other such medical procedures. The little guy practically tried to weld on his own legs on then let Ratchet touch him. Of course, he later lost in this predicament when Optimus put his huge metal foot down and told ‘Bee to stop his squirming and allow the medic to do his job. That wasn’t the only instance of course that led Sam to this conclusion … what about ‘Bee’s vocal processors? The human had recalled hearing Ratchet grumble one day that he was sick of Bumblebee’s radio talk and should just let him open his chassis and insert a new vocal processor. Yes, it would be surgery, but of course, the Camaro wouldn’t allow it. Bumblebee said he wanted to keep his original voice and that it was healing just fine. Ironhide merely laughed at the medic’s complaints stating, ‘ _You know ‘Bee’s a coward when it comes to medical anythin’ Ratchet … so jus’ give up._ ’

Now Sam, being a hater of needles himself, understood the whole phobia of pain, but the longer he was friends with Bumblebee the more apparent it became that pain wasn’t the issue. The little bot had a thing about getting dents and gashes in his paintjob though he merely laughed them off. This of course would lead to another fiasco of Bumblebee running away from Ratchet once they got to the outlook and Optimus having to put his huge metal foot down.

“ _Epppppppp! Oh my god it’s … it’s HORRIBLE! EKKKKKKKKKK_!” Bee’s radio blasted an old horror movie scene from some forgotten classic. Ratchet merely glared up at his patient as he worked on a huge dent in his leg.

“How did you get this again?” growled Ratchet as he reconnected a loose wire. It always surprised him how still Bumblebee was when he did get the rare occasion to work on him. If it wasn’t the pain that bothered ‘Bee then why did he always struggle? Bumblebee really didn’t believe Ironhide’s lie about him turning a transformer into the equivalent of a microwave once when said mech squirmed on the operation table, did he? 

“ _Dude lets catch a wave – duck Double 007, the bullet -_ ”

A quick slam to the back of Bumblebee’s head from Ratchet made the movie surfing stop. “Speak. I’m in no mood to do any deciphering.”

“It was a … _screech_.” The young autobot grabbed at his throat noting that he wasn’t going to say anymore.

Ratchet allowed an almost human like sigh to escape him as he looked over at the teenage human leaning against the tree playing with his Ipod, grumbling to the teen, “Sam Witwicky, care to elaborate?”

The human looked up at the huge metallic being for a moment with a dazed looked. Out of all the Autobots it was taking Ratchet the longest to understand human customs, one being Bee-speak as he liked to call it, “Oh … it was Miles again. He crashed his Moped into Bumblebee in the parking lot.”

Ratchet and the rest of Autobots sighed, Ratchet grumbling, “You must inform your ‘pal’ that he must stop injuring my fellow soldiers. I’m growing tired of removing Miles shaped indents from Bumblebee’s armor.”

Sam merely chuckled. “I’ll do that Ratch’ … as soon as I tell him that my car is a giant transforming robot in disguise. I’m kinda taking my time. The last thing I need is Miles freaking out again thinking that his new master and enslaver is a giant alien robot overlord. I mean last time I just hinted and he came up with this whole conspiracy theory. He wasn’t that far off if you put into account that Megatron would have to have won and was the cause of the economies issues.”

The medic nodded. He remembered the day when Sam had brought Miles up to the outlook to meet his new friends. He had only started to explain and was trying to smoothly ease his human companion into the truth when Miles took over going into a slight hysteria. Ratchet would have complemented the human for catching on so quickly but the human was already halfway down the road screaming something about getting supplies ready for the apocalypse. “And how fast was Bumblebee going?”

Another chuckle escaped Sam as he allowed his body to flop in the grass. “That’s the beauty of it, ‘Bee was parked.”

Ratchet shook his head, sighing, “I don’t see the humor in this situation Sam.”

“Oh if you were there you would have laughed … I mean ‘Bee might have whimpered some coming up here but he was laughing most of the time.”

Bumblebee merely chuckled sending his hand back to his throat as he flinched in pain. Ratchet dropped his tools and glared at the yellow bot, growling, “That’s it … I’m replacing that vocal processor if I have to wrestle you to the ground and make Ironhide sit on you.”

Bumblebee’s humor was quickly gone.

“No,” he stated dully.

Ratchet stood up quickly and shook his hands dancing on his feet much like a boxer would. “Alright Bumblebee I’m sick and tired of your bloody phobia of medial operations. If I have to wrestle it out of you so be it.”

Bumblebee blinked his optics in an _as-if_ way, but he went stiff nonetheless. If Ratchet got a good look at the spark hidden underneath his chassis armor that would be the end of his few vorn old secret. The smaller Autobot of course didn’t get to dwell on this very long when he suddenly found himself ducking from one of Ratchet’s fists … This wasn’t good. Yeah, Bumblebee could hold his own despite the size difference, but if it was one thing he learned in keeping his secret from every medic he encountered … medics always got what they wanted.

A gruff laugh escaped Ironhide from the sidelines as the two Autobots took their stances to start their duel. Every circuit jumped with determination in winning this sparing match. Unfortunately, ‘Bee had never had a real sparring match with Ratchet, EVER! The medic was generally always to busy with is work to be bothered with such things. Now if this had been Ironhide ‘Bee would be rather sure he might be able to win. Despite his heavy weaponry Ironhide had a few weak spots in his armor. Like when you picked behind his left knee plating in the exact right way he’d go down fast and hard … and probably stay that way. The Camaro rather doubted that Ratchet would have such a simple Achilles heel though.

Ratchet made a quick swipe at the back of Bee’s legs with his foot, tripping the younger bot. Bumblebee merely twisted to avoid the ground, doing a backwards jump thus rolling on his shoulder and coming to a low defensive pose. The medic grinned, slowly circling the still ‘Bee as he looked for a weak spot that could easily be attacked.

The smile continued to hold on the medic’s face … this was going to be a short sparring match for him indeed if he could just get the youngling out of his kneeling position and to his feet. He might have to take a hit or two, but if he managed to get the kid down a dent or two would be worth it.

Bumblebee, meanwhile, tried to keep calm as Ratchet circled around him for the second time. Ratchet had a sickening smile on his face plates … and now was officially the time to panic! You see it’s a medic’s job to find and correct weak spots on his fellow ‘bots armor and Bee stressed the world _find._ That smile could only mean one thing. Ratchet had found ‘Bee’s Achilles heel. The yellow transformer’s gears whizzed in a panicked way as a small chuckle escaped his counterpart. Sam would forgive him for abandoning him while he went into hiding, wouldn’t he? The guardian threw his gaze to his charge. Sam was merely smiling as he listened to his Ipod not even noticing that a sparring match had started. It might take some whining, but Sam would forgive him. Now, as soon as Ratchet got another thirty degrees to his left, he’d make a run for it.

 … How far was Alaska again?

Ironhide, regrettably, saw Bee throw a quick glance at Sam. The Weapons Specialist shook his head. Bumblebee wouldn’t dare run from a sparring match … would he?

The question was quickly answered with a twisting of gears and the squealing of tires as the yellow Camaro made a run for it. A surprised yelp escaped Ratchet as the yellow bot slammed past him … Of course, it wasn’t that easy. Ironhide had seen it coming and quickly stood in front of the only exit crossing his arms over his chest. “You better not be runnin’ out of a sparring match, kid.”

‘Bee came to a halt throwing dirt and grime all over the Weapons Specialist as he slid to a dead stop. _What? That was supposed to stop him?_ _He wasn’t afraid to off road_. The Camaro made a quick turn on his wheels and slammed on the gas only to let out a yelp of surprise as someone latched onto the back of his bumper. Bumblebee only had enough time to catch Ratchet grinning before he was flung over and into the air.

Out of desperation not to crush in his hood or any other essential part do to a fall in car mode, ‘Bee transformed sliding on his knees. He grimaced in pain at the action. Those leg joints were still sore from Mission City. Of course the poor ‘bot didn’t even have the time to whine about stiff hydraulics when a fist whizzed over his shoulder plate denting it slightly in the process. This action of course left wiring under Ratchet’s arm exposed. A quick fist to the wiring sent the medic back hissing. ‘Bee smiled as the other stumbled backwards. So he jumped to his feet ready to shove the other to the ground, but that’s when he noticed that Ratchet was still smiling.

“It’s not that easy youngling.” The medic suddenly grabbed at the back of ‘Bee’s newly resembled legs sticking a finger beneath the plating and sending the whole wiring into panicked shut down mode to keep them from being damaged since the wiring was still new. A howl of pain was the only sound that was allowed to escape the young bot as his legs gave out and he fell on his back.

The huge crash to the ground and the screaming gears that went with it suddenly sent Sam out of his relaxed state and the teenager jumped to his feet screaming, “The Decepticons! Duck and cover! Duck and cover!”

The human looked around madly expecting bombs or something to come whizzing his way, but instead a soft chuckle floated through the air as the Ipod fell to the ground.

“Calm down, kid. It was not Decepticons or any form of weapon, but he can be just as dangerous as all of those combined,” said Irohide as Sam merely blinked up at the Weapons Specialist; the human not getting the Autobots failed attempt at humor. “Ratchet … and sadly ‘Bee’s learning that the hard way.”

Sam’s brown eyes followed the mech’s pointing finger. There sprawled out on the ground whimpering was Bumblebee with a collection of dust settling around him. Ratchet stood above him with this shit-grin that couldn’t be anything else but one of pure humor. The medic then grabbed his dropped scalpel off the ground and walked back over to ‘Bee, sitting on top of him and pinning his arms beneath his legs.

“Okay,” slurred the human as he stared at the scene with a look of pure confusion. “Is this normal or should I be screaming _rape_ of something?”

“Nope, Ratchet’s going to replace ‘Bee’s vocal processors. He had to wrestle him to the ground first though,” chuckled Ironhide as he watched with mild amusement.

“Huh … about time,” grumbled Sam as he flopped back into the grass.

Now don’t get him wrong. Sam loved Bumblebee like a brother, a brother that was a few meters higher then him mind you, but a brother none the less … and sometimes brothers needed to be punished. Let’s just say radio talk could be misinterpreted, which then pissed off Mikaela because she thought ‘Bee wanted them to ‘ _do it’_ in the back seat when Bumblebee was just trying to tell her that she left her phone in the backseat. And … yeah, it just was a downward spiral from there. Mikaela still hadn’t spoken to him all this week because of that little fiasco.

Ratchet straddled himself on top the other bot crossing his arms over his chassis. “Well, well, well. It seems I’ve caught myself a Bumblebee. Now let’s get a look under that chassis of yours and end this stupid mockery you dare to call a vocal processor.”

‘Bee froze for a moment as he stared at the grin on Ratchet’s face … Is that what he, soon to be dubbed _she_ , had to look forward to each night for the next millennia? Being forced onto her back as a different Mech would grin down at her with the same egotistical filled smirk as they took their pleasure, claiming it was for the continuation of the species. Bumblebee was in simplest accounts a virgin, but that didn’t mean she didn’t hear what the older ‘bots would whisper during practice about what they would do to a femme if they had one alone for an evening.

A panicked wheeze escaped Bumblebee as he renewed his struggle. Kicking, wrenching and hissing as he tried to get himself away from the body atop him.

Ratchet was at first shock by the desperation in ‘Bee’s reaction. It wasn’t as if he was going to operate while the youngling was still online.

“Calm your circuits Bumblebee. You won’t feel anything except some soreness afterwards for a few day cycles. NOW STOP YOUR STRUGGLING! I can’t pop your chassis with the way you’re thrashing about! I might hit a sensory wiring if you keep moving like this,” said Ratchet; the medic watching as Bumblebee’s thrashing started to grow slower as he was being wore down by the weight of the other mech though the youngling’s wailing grew ever louder as if someone was taking a rake across a collection of chalkboards.

“It’s a simple procedure ‘Bee,” continued the medic as he pinned the other. “It will take a human hour or two tops instead of the weeks it would take for me to slowly correct the damage to you existing voice processor. Now, please stop moving! You’re not going to get away. You’re merely overheating your circuits with this insanity.”

Bumblebee was quickly getting tired from his screaming, thrashing and desperate need to escape. When fighting Decepticons he paced himself and kept his circuits at minimal temp, but his pump was thrashing about in a panic causing his circuits to overheat thus quickly throwing his systems into exhaustion even though he had optimal energy levels to fight of days. The panic was just too much … He couldn’t calm his circuits. This was becoming the equivalent of a panic attack. Oh Primus! He couldn’t overheat because then he’d be unable to keep Ratchet’s hands away from his chassis … away from his spark... away from his secret.

The medic ground himself a little bit deeper into the earth with his knees as the other heated up. True, the Camaro’s circuits were overheating so soon the youth would be unable to put up a struggle, but that really didn’t matter to Ratchet … Why exactly was ‘Bee fighting so hard? Why was he so scared? Bumblebee had operations all the time being the easy target he was. Was it because Ratchet’s hands would be close to his spark?

Thinking that the reason, the medic tried to sooth the other,“Bumblebee please calm yourself and tell me wants wrong? You know I would not harm –”

“RATCHET!” The medic turned his attention away from the yellow bot below him and to the direction of the whiny voice; Sam had his hands over his ears and seemed to be wincing with pain as he continued to beg, “I’m going deaf here man! If he can screech like that his vocal processors are fine!”

“Agreed!” growled Ironhide as he tapped the side of his head, off-lining his audio processors. “Just hurry up and offline him before the humans notice.”

A whimpered wheeze escaped the yellow mech as he looked over at Ironhide. The old bot had practically raised him when his creator was destroyed and here he was, as the humans would say, hanging him out to dry. _No! Please no!_ No, he didn’t want to carry sparklings until he finally died in a birthing. He didn’t want to be lovers with soldiers he had once called caretakers and compatriots. HE DIDN”T WANT TO BE THIS WAY!

One last agonizing cry of pure agony escaped the poor bot as Ratchet’s fingers drew towards the place in his neck that would offline him …

“ _Ratchet_!”

A surprised yelp escaped the medic as he was suddenly pulled off of Bumblebee and before Bumblebee knew what he was doing he was hidden behind Ironhide, arms wrapped around his caretakers leg like he use to do as a youth. The Weapons Specialist stared in shock at ‘Bee and then turned his attention to the medic who was leaning against their Autobot commander looking surprised.

“Um … yes, Optimus?” stated Ratchet dully as if nothing was going on.

“Soldier. What were you doing to Bumblebee and why did you find it necessary to inform every human in the general vicinity that you were doing it? By the time I had arrived there were at least half a dozen vehicles parked below the lookout pointing and wondering what the sound was. Of course I thought it was a Decepticon attack with the cries that were escaping ‘Bee’s vocal processors,” stated Optimus, the leader only receiving a questioned look from his medic as the healer pulled himself out of Optimus’ arms and to his feet, glaring the whole time at the yellow bot who was wrapped around Ironhide’s leg.

The Commander sighed and then continued in his story. “It took some convincing to get the humans to leave. Now Ratchet I’m not one to question your mechanical expertise but I must requested that you look for a more suitable place to do surgery … perhaps one of the warehouses the government allowed us to have until a permanent residence can be found. There are no human residences nearby so you can work in peace as well as have a sterile environment.”

The medic nodded and gruffly answered, “Apologies Optimus. I was simply going to replace Bumblebee’s damaged vocal processor … I did not realize he’d be put in such a panic.”

Optimus stared at his medic of a moment and then threw his gaze at the scout. “Bumblebee front and center!” Sam nodded to his guardian as the youngling reluctantly let go of Ironhide’s leg and stood in front of Optimus, his gaze to the ground as he hung his head in shame. “I understand your fear of medical procedures Bumblebee, but I solemnly swear that if you ever react that way towards Ratchet again I’ll hold you down myself kicking and screaming throughout the entire operation without painkillers!”

A small whimper escaped the scout as he nodded his head soberly.

“Good … now gather round soldiers. I have news for you all.” The Autobot leader nodded once all his soldier gather round including Sam who stood a few meters from Ironhide’s foot … he had long since gotten over getting stepped on. “I received another transmission from a fellow Autobot.”

There was a chorus of excitement from the other three as they drew closer to their Commander waiting for the good news.

“It was Hound,” continued the Autobot leader. “I was able to transmit some news to him before his signal was broken off… I told him the Allspark was gone along with Megatron.”

The huge bot’s optics dimmed slightly in a soft tone, “He didn’t take the news of the Allsparks destruction well … He said he needed some time to think on what we are to do now. I’m afraid he might do something rash in his misery.”

The joy that had filled all the Autobots was suddenly dead. All of them held cheerless expressions. Sam could merely swallow … What had he done? What had he done!

“Optimus?” asked the human in a small voice. “Why was he so upset about the Allspark being destroyed? Isn’t it better then letting Megatron have it?”

All the Autobots turned their attention to Sam seeing that the human had a look of horror on his face.

Optimus’ words were careful, “Sam … no one is angry at you. If Megatron had gotten the Allspark he would have destroyed the universe if he were able. This fate perhaps is more fitting then the one Megatron had planned for our species.”

“Fate?” murmured Sam still baffled.  

Ratchet swung his head and ran a finger over his chin plating, “You realize, of course Sam, that new transformers were created by the Allspark … right?”

“Yeah, I kinda remember the whole Nokia trying to kill me,” hissed Sam as the Autobots all exchanged looks of confusion. None of them were there for Simmons’ display so they had no idea what the teen was talking about.

Sam, catching on, shook his head, “N-never mind. Please talk now. I’m a little lost here.”

The medic sighed, “Sam … there is no Allspark meaning there will never be another sparkling. There will be no more younglings … no more _children_. Our species is as good as extinct once we die.”

It was like a slap to the face and a choking noise escaped Sam. What had he done! The species was going extinct because of him? He was a murderer! The teenager lost all his strength and fell to his knees as he stared upwards at the four ‘bots. He wanted to cry, to scream and yell … but all he could do was look up at Optimus and whimper, “I-I thought you j-just built new ones, but is there nothing we can do? There had to be something else then the Allspark, right? Didn’t you guys have females? M-maybe the Allspark had a brother! Please, Optimus I’ve already kill one of your kind. Please don’t make me the hand that killed you all!”

The Autobots were all silent as they stood above Sam, the shock evident on their facial plates.

“ … Please.”

Ironhide shifted his weight, the subject sore, “Calm down kid. In truth, we did have somethin’ that would be compared to your females. They were called femme bots … pretties’ things. Until Megatron.”

“Megatron,” hissed Optimus as his optics narrowed. His fists clenched as the memories hit him, interrupted Ironhide’s words. It was just whenever there was the mention of the femmes he’d automatically picture the titan and what he did to the fair lady bots.

Not knowing the story of course Sam took that statement all the wrong way. “What! Megatron was a female? So I’ve killed you guys twice over?”

There was a shocked silence as all the transformers looked down at Sam in horror … until Bee broke into a shaken laughter which was quickly followed by Ironhide, Ratchet, and finally Optimus. It was a strange buzzing noise and crunching of gears, Cybertronian laughter, but Sam knew it was a laugh none the less as Ironhide added, “I sure hope not kid, ‘cause then our femmes sure would have been ugly.”

Sam blushed. “Oh … I … um …”

The huge Autobot leader stopped his laughter and looked calmly down at the small being. “Sam blame not yourself. There is still hope for our kind. Femmes were smart creatures, smarter then most mechs it seems sometimes. I’m sure some found a way to escape Megatron’s genocide.”

“Genocide?” frowned Sam … God! He was so ignorant! The Autobots probably thought him a fool for asking so many questions. Then again, why would he know anything about giant robot history 101?

Ironhide threw a quick glance at ‘Bee waiting for him to offer some words to the explanation or at least a sad song. The little bot did not say nor do anything but stare at the ground and try not to make optic contact with anyone so Ironhide continued, “Well, being the slag-head he was, Megatron wanted to make sure whoever got the Allspark truly won the war. With femmes able to reproduce without the help of the Allspark that plan was a total waste of time. So he did something _disgusting_! He ordered that every femme bot be destroyed!”

A surprised look filled Sam’s eyes but he did not question it as he turned his head to Ratchet, the medic continuing the story.

“Even though I find Ironhide’s explanation accurate a more precise explanation is that Megatron _ordered_ his soldiers to kill every femme they could find. Yes, some Decepticons did revolt saying it was wrong, but in Megatron’s optics anyone who disagreed with him was as good as an Autobot. Thus they were to be shot down like an Autobot … No Decepticons questioned him after that. We did are best to protect the femmes, but we received the information too late.”

A silence filled the area as the medic and the others hung their heads in same depressed manner until Ironhide spoke up, “Well that was depressing.”

“Indeed,” Ratchet nodded his head solemnly. “Perhaps we should discuss something less time consuming … like deciding where to make temporary base so I can put up a decent medical bay. I mean –”

 _Okay … conversation over, high time to hightail it out of here_ though the Camaro _._

Slowly, ‘Bee started taking steps backwards towards the left were Sam was lost in Ratchet’s words. If he could just get to the human he would be outta here and away from Ratchet’s finger because he was positive that the medic would soon get on the subject of fixing ‘Bee’s vocal processors again. Thus, in cause and effect, Optimus would put his huge metal foot down and end this vorns old charade of hide-and-go-secret.

Sam stood there craning his neck backwards as he listened to Ratchet speak. He felt slightly queasy by how quickly the Autobots dismissed the discussion of their species’ extinction. He had a feeling they’d continue it later when he was not around, thus sparing him anymore guilt. Deep in thought, the human jumped when he felt a cold finger run down his back.

Sam quickly slapped the metal finger away as violently as he could without hurting himself, grumbling, “Damn it Bee, I’m trying to listen. You do realize my new hangout will be wherever you guys decide to put up shop, right?”

Prod… prod … poke … prod.

“‘Bee!” hissed Sam as he looked over his shoulder at the smaller bot that was meticulously hidden behind Ironhide whom didn’t even seem to notice he was being used as a visual shield from Ratchet. The Camaro’s optics seemed dim and weary … like he was afraid. “What’s wrong ‘Bee? Not still afraid of Ratchet, are you?”

“ _There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home_ ,” came the chime of Dorothy from _Wizard of Oz_.

Sam pulled his brow down in a questioning manner. Did ‘Bee really want to go home that badly? “Trying to hide from Ratchet?”

“ _Oh yes, very much so_ ,” came to voice of the unforgettable child actor known for her red curls … Sam couldn’t place her name but his mom loved her. Her name was Curly Sue, right?

“Optimus I hope you’re willing to uphold your earlier statement about holding Bumblebee down … Hey, were did –”

A laugh echoed over the clearing as it became apparent that the conversation between the three older mechs had turned ‘Bee’s way, Optimus murmuring in a light humor, “Ironhide it seems ‘Bee has decided to use you as a living shield.”

The Weapons Specialists stared at Optimus is surprise for a moment before he took a step to the side revealing the younger mech to everyone. Wrinkling his metallic nose, Ironhide grumbled, “Kid … I’m not Barricade so find someone else to block you from sight.”

A nervous laugh escaped the little Camaro as Ratchet continued, “As I was discussing with Prime, ‘Bee, you are to going to accompany me to one of these warehouses this evening … you’re not going to make Prime drag you are you?”

The medic scowled at the youngling already knowing full well what the answer was.

‘Bee merely whimpered and threw a pleading gaze back at Sam. The teenager sighed … _Okay, fine_. He’d give, but what was the point in delaying the inevitable? Sam hadn’t known Ratchet for that long, but he knew the medic usually got what he wanted, be it by threat with his scalpel or his wisdom.

“No Prime!” gapped Sam all of the sudden putting on his best acting face. “I need to get home … NOW!”

Optimus tilted his head in a very human manner. Sam wasn’t saving ‘Bee’s aft again, was he? Really, wasn’t it supposed to be the other way around with ‘Bee being the guardian?

Resisting the urge to pinch his nose bridge, he asked, “Why Sam? If something urgent was happening you should have informed us earlier.”

Sam swallowed. _Okay, his acting skills were a bit rusty … since the second grade_. “Um … that’s because … I just remembered.”

“Remembered what?” said Ironhide with a grin. Ah, this was a game Will played with his femme Sarah all the time … lets see who’d win first. Ratchet, aka the wife, or Sam, aka the husband who wants to sneak out with the guys for the evening.

The human gapped for a moment like a fish until he finally blurted out, “I FORGOT TO WATER THE PLANTS!”

The medic almost laughed before he added, “I’m sure the vegetation in your residence can wait Sam. ‘Bee’s systems need attention and it will only be a few short earth hours.”

Sam looked at the medic and then at Bumblebee. No one could say he hadn’t tried. The human slowly turned his attention back to the Camaro ready to say, ‘ _have fun ‘Bee’_ when he received a hard poke to the back of the shin as if the ‘bot knew what he was thinking.

“DAMN IT “BEE! That hurt! I should let Ratchet-,” the mechs were all staring at him, “Um … I mean … NO! You don’t get it Ratchet!” The teenager started throwing his arms madly into the air to emphasizing the seriousness that he was lying about. “I have to go now! Now! The plants they’re dying! Dying! Oh my god, I can feel the oxygen decreasing in the atmosphere … _cough, cough, wheeze_. … can’t … breath …”

The human then grabbed at his throat and slowly fell to his knees panting and coughing the whole time. “No … to … beautiful … to … die.”

Ratchet, no longer smiling, was now in a slight panic as he ran every known scan on the atmosphere around them. Yes, the oxygen levels were a little lower due to the height of the area but it was a very acceptable amount for the human physiology … at least he had thought it was. “Sam, I don’t understand. The death of a few plants can’t really be causing this distress to your body.”

“ _Cough_ … _sputter_ … _wheeze_ … yes, it is Ratchet … _cough_!”

Prime’s leadership skills quickly kicked into high gear and he barked a command, “Bumblebee!” The little ‘bot stood up tall and proud trying not to chirp happily, “Take Sam home and remember to pull extra oxygen levels into your cab so Sam does not suffocate. Move soldier, MOVE!”

‘Bee transformed and Sam quickly jumped in noting that the air conditioning was on high for an added effect and then they were out of there. Sam then burst out laughing as they drove towards home, the whole scenario was like a great prank, “Oh my god! I can’t believe they actually fell for that.”

“Indeed,” croaked Bumblebee’s vocal processor.

The teenager swallowed his laughter, the joy dying as the bitter truth hit him. He had to addressed the issue,

Breathing deep and slowly, Sam murmured, “Bumblebee … why do you never let Ratchet operate on your chest? You let him near your legs and that, but why not your chest? You don’t have a corpse or something in there, do you?”

“No Sam,” chirped ‘Bee … but he’d choose the corpse any day over the _truth_.

“Okay, good and ‘Bee,” continued Sam, the transformers quickly catching onto the lowered heartbeat of the human as the youth added, “I’m sorry about destroying the Allspark. I’m so sorry for making you guys … you know … go extinct.”

‘Bee sighed, wishing he could pull right over and throw his chassis open screaming at the human not to cry because right in front of him was a femme. See! Their kind was going to survive … but he _couldn’t_. He just couldn’t. A sorrowful tune taking his confession and pressing it away, “ _Don’t cry my baby … the sun will rise in the morning_.”

… But Sam still cried, his sobs echoing within the sports car’s cab.

XXX

Will sat on the small deck in front of his house nursing a lemonade and cooing to Annabelle at his side, stating, “Oh … who’s the most beautiful girl in all world?”

The little girl shrieked happily at her daddy’s tickling and kicked at his dancing fingers until he stopped. Once it was obvious that daddy was done with the game, Annabelle then returned her attentive gaze to a firefly that was dancing in the evening air. Will chuckled at her curiosity and leaned back in his chair … and here he thought watching Annabelle for a week alone was going to be hard while Sarah was at her mothers.

House wives had it easy…

… Until a sudden screech of tires informed the soldier that his metallic companion was heading his way. His daughter giggled stating that she knew her big, metal toy was coming home. Will did not share her joy. Something was very off especially with the way dust clouds were billowing behind the Topkick like he was being chased by the devil himself. Lennox swallowed and quickly ran into the house grabbing his handy-dandy rocket launcher; child locks of course.

Ironhide was halfway transformed as he slid to a halt in front of Will’s house, dust abound as he yelled, “Will!”

The human started turning around in circles madly looking at the skies. Where were the Decepticons! There wasn’t one behind Ironhide so it must mean he’s in the sky, his soldier’s voice demanding, “Where is he! Where is he! I’ll teach him for trying to disturb the peace of my home. Come out you Decepticon filth!”

The transformer stared at the human in question for a moment as if he was mad, completely still.

Will’s shoulders slumped as he stared at the other, asking dryly, “There are no Decepticons, are there?”

“No, there is not Will Lennox,” confirmed the metallic being in a hurried tone. “Have you watered your plants Lennox! Have you watered the plants like your femme said!”

Lennox blinked once, getting more confused by the moment. What? Had Sarah threatened Ironhide’s motherboard if he didn’t make sure Will watered the plants? Slowly, the human replied, “Um … no. I think the fern might be dead.”

A scream of agony escaped the huge bot as he fell to his knee’s whimpering like a whipped dog. He kept whispering something like, ‘ _No. I’ve killed my human’_ and ‘ _I’ll never forgive myself for killing that tree’_ as well as some whimpering about Sam Witwicky’s flowerbed.

The rocket launcher fell to the ground with a thud as Will stared in awe at the Weapon Specialist’s breakdown. What had Sarah threatened to do! Waving his hands, he cried, “Don’t worry buddy! I’ll water the plants right now okay … and we’ll get a new fern tomorrow! Just calm down, calm down!”


	2. War Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bold talking is Cybertronian

Bumblebee was on his tiptoes as he jarred the window open a little more so he could get his hand in. Thank Primus that Sam’s window was located by the backyard otherwise this would be impossible!

Finally, the window gave way to his prying and opened the whole way. ‘Bee gave a satisfied click. He then turned his attention to Sam. The human had fallen asleep on the ride back home; his face was still puffy and red. Thankfully, his soft snores showed that he was sleeping peacefully nonetheless. Bumblebee carefully picked up the human from the grass, trying not to wake him as he did so, and as carefully as possible placed the organic in his bed through the open window. Sam’s parents were probably sitting by the front door ready to deal punishment for being pass curfew. Luckily for Sam, it was impossible to sneak up into his window so the teen would be able to state that he had been home before curfew when he did finally come down in the morning.

Oh, the perks of having a giant robot for a friend.

Once Sam was finally curled deep into his covers and whispering something about fried chicken did the Autobot decide to shut the window and leave him at peace. The small bot then stood there, in the middle of Ron Witwicky’s lawn just thinking. He felt sick in his spark. He prayed that Hound hadn’t done anything _rash_. Bumblebee liked Hound because the tracker was such a pushover to him when he was growing up amongst the Autobot ranks. Hound was like an ‘Uncle’ as the humans would say, and the thought of the kind falling into sorrow was a notion Bumblebee couldn’t bare. The yellow Camaro sighed and slowly lay on the lawn, sprawling out and staring at the stars like a child.

 _Maybe I should tell Prime_ thought the femme in disguise as _he_ (Bumblebee had stopped thinking of himself as a female long ago) placed a hand over his chest only to suddenly have an image of a grinning Prime straddling him latch onto his processors.

No, he _couldn’t_ tell. Maybe if there were other femmes but there were no more femmes, were there? Bumblebee had check and rechecked the Autobot ranks trying to spy out any other bot that seemed unwilling to open their chassis or afraid of medics. Alas, no one fit the profile for too long. He was alone, wasn’t he: the last femme? Bumblebee shuddered at the thought. If he told Prime would the semi be the first to _take_ ‘Bee or would the leader allow Bumblebee the choice of his nightly partner until he conceived a sparkling? Bumblebee shuddered again. Would it hurt to connect with another and share each other’s spark? Would it be unbearable once the sparkling started growing, expanding the metal of his natural form until he could no longer transform to alt mode safely? And what of the birthing? He’d never witnessed it and could never find any vid files on the subject, but from ‘Bee’s musings he’d heard that no battle wounded soldier’s screams could compare to that of a birthing femme.

Bumblebee sat up and pulled his head into his knees much like Sam did when he was upset. He-he hated being this way. He’d fought so hard to protect the Allspark. He defeated Barricade alone to protect Sam, allowed the humans to capture him so Optimus could get the glasses, fought in battle injured and legless, yet … the Allspark was lost. Bumblebee allowed himself to whimper as he started rocking back and forth … why? Why?

“ _WHY_!”

“ **Why, what**?” came a metallic voice in Cybertronian and Bumblebee was to his feet in record time.

“ **Ratchet** ,” squeaked Bumblebee’s vocal processors as he stumbled backwards, tripping over Ron Witwicky’s newly replaced fountain and falling on his aft shaking the lamps that hung on the house’s patio. There stood the medic on the opposite side of the fence, staring at him. There was a worried look on his faceplates that just yelled that he had been watching Bumblebee’s musing, shaking, whimpering and overall pathetic display of femme-ality.

“ **Who else**?” stated the medic calmly in Cybertronian as he looked Bumblebee up and down. “ **I came to apologize for my earlier actions at the outlook. I know how frightened you are of medical procedures. I also wanted to tell you that your vocal processors are healing at an acceptable rate so it was unnecessary for me to act so forcefully, but, nonetheless, I am the team’s medic and you should listen to me**.”

Bumblebee nodded his head but dared not speak. Optimus had probably questioned Ratchet’s actions after ‘Bee left, but one squeak from his damaged vocal processors would probably cause the medic to go against Prime’s request.

The medic nodded but didn’t leave like Bumblebee was hoping he’d do. Instead, he stepped over the fence, ducked the power lines and came closer to Bumblebee. Bumblebee’s systems nearly panicked. He had to keep Ratchet as far away as possible; his systems were too raw and shaken from earlier to block out any system checks. He needed to keep Ratchet away! True, he could always shoot him but that was a little extreme. Besides, what kind of excuse would he come up with afterward? _‘Sorry Optimus, I thought Ratchet had Rust cooties._ ’ That might have worked a few thousand years ago when he was younger, but not now. What could he use and still seem inconspicuous?

It was like a game show going off in Bumblebee’s head as he tried to come up with an answer. ‘ _Now behind which door is your escape?’ said the inner host. ‘Will it be door number one! Run for your aft and pray that you’re faster than the medic or door number two! A death match … which Ratchet will probably win! The clock is ticking so choose wisely_!’ The Camaro was almost positive that he could hear jeopardy-like theme music playing in his head, which was only interrupted by a yawn. Bumblebee quickly looked toward Sam’s window. The human wasn’t awake so who could have yawn? A small yip made the bot jump as he caught sight of a sleepy Mojo crawling out of his luxury doghouse; Sam had accidentally left Mojo outside. ‘ _I’d like to take option behind door number three, please._ ’

The wheels were turning in the Camaro’s head and so where the mech’s feet as he stumbled toward the doghouse. Once there he grabbed the small beast by his collar before Mojo could stumble in the house. The dog gave a gruff yip as he was place in Bumblebee’s hand and nearly pushed into Ratchet’s face. Bumblebee just knew that the little Chihuahua was bound to go into one of his barking temper tantrums by finding a stranger, aka Ratchet, in his yard and bothering his ride, aka ‘Bee. Thus the barking would cause the whole Witwicky household to emerge from their slumber and save his aft, again!

Mojo looked around in a panic when he found that his ground had been replaced by air and finally metal. The little dog shook as he looked around in a panic trying to find out why he had just risen a few meters into the air. He only calmed down when he registered that it was only his Master’s car, again! The dog stopped his shaking and glared over at his capturer. Pathetic and this metallic monster called himself a guardian? Bumblebee had his battle mask down and had one hand over his optics as if hoping just because he couldn’t see the other mech he’d somehow disappear. Mojo yawned and looked over at the medic … his tail started to wag. Now this was a promising aspect. Maybe the medic would give him some painkillers. Yum, painkillers. What? It was Sam’s fault for giving him overdoses in the first place.

Bumblebee spread his fingers to see if Ratchet had left. Nope, still there and maybe a step or two closer to boot. Plus, to add insult to injury, Ratchet was smiling down at the small organic as he scanned him for data. Okay, the Mojo-mad-dog scheme was a failure, but the sick-dying-Mojo scheme still hadn’t been put on the stage.

“ **Wha-what are you do-doing j-just standing the-there, R-ratchet! Mo-mojo’s dying,** ” squeaked Bumblebee, earning him a worried glance from Ratchet. Hopefully, Sam would forgive him for sacrificing his dog.

“ **What do you mean? I just ran several scans and nothing, not even oxygen levels seemed abnormal,”** Ratchet replied as he eyed the Camaro; ‘Bee seemed tense like he was readying himself for battle. In fact, all of ‘Bumblebee’s system’s were on high alert and in a distressed mode. **“Bumblebee why are all your systems on alert?”**

_SLAGGIT ALL! Distraction mode. DISTRACTION! Lie bitch. LIE! “_ **Because R-ratchet … um … it’s because of-of Mojo’s st-state! Please ch-check him out** **! Sssssam would die if Mo-mojjjo died!”**

Bumblebee practically tossed the dog at Ratchet. Ratchet, of course, had been too distracted in reading the scans he was receiving from Bumblebee to properly react to the whole dog-being-thrown-at-him and missed the mutt. A gasp escaped ‘Bee as he dove for the dog in medic’s absence. Of course, with Ratchet not being more then a few meters away, it was more like he dove for Ratchet. The poor medic went down with a huff as ‘Bee’s form fell to the ground with him. There was a moment clanging followed by an odd silence as ‘Bee slowly opened his palm. Mojo was still, his little form unmoving. ‘Bee felt his processors dive. _What had he done_? The small mech felt a whimper of sadness rise in his throat for killing the rodent, but then the next thing he knew the little dog wolfed angrily, got to its feet and ran off into the bushes.

The Camaro glared at the retreating rodent thinking bitterly, _maybe he should step on him, traitor_? The bot shook off the thought and laid his head down in mental exhaustion … there was a clang as he did so. It was then that he realized exactly where he was … a fire being lit in his chassis at the thought of another’s spark chamber being so close to his. Bumblebee’s systems at the realization suddenly started to overheat as his spark chamber fought with his mind to open itself and allowed the other spark access. A pained whine escaped ‘Bee as he fought with his internal systems, yet his spark would have none of it. It didn’t want to be pulled away from the closeness of the other spark so soon, even though it was separated by thick sheets of metal. It would not be taken away from the other so quickly! Before the Camaro could do more then pull his head up, his systems seemed to freeze and he fell back onto Ratchet’s chest with an echoing clang.

Ratchet sensors seemed to panic when he heard the pained whimper escape Bumblebee, and then there was the dull clang when Bumblebee collapsed back on top of him. His sensors were now picking up abnormal heat signatures from the smaller mech’s form as if he were overheating, which was strange because Bumblebee’s systems seemed to be working properly a minute ago. So why had he collapsed? Ratchet slowly started to sit up, carefully holding the nearly still mech to his chest. Well, almost completely still. The medic could tell by the soft twitching of the smaller mech’s digits that he was trying to reset something in his system. Ratchet pulled his form completely up into a sitting position. He could feel the heat coming off in waves now.

“ **Bumblebee, tell me what’s wrong? What system are you trying to reset? Is it your coolant system?** ” said Ratchet in a calm manner, trying to not worry the youngling.

The smaller mech said nothing, meaning most of his non-survival systems were probably offline.

“ **Bumblebee** ,” said Ratchet as he repositioned ‘Bee’s hips so they’d stop digging into his side, “ **I’m going run some system diagnostics … just give me a minute**.”

Ratchet then leaned Bumblebee’s head loosely on his shoulder plating as his delicate fingers started to work, trying to find the cause of the problem. The heat seemed to jump a few more degrees as he did so. It was as if his touch was causing this overheating which was just illogical so he continued his prodding.

‘Bee tried to say ‘ _no’_ but the only sound he was able to make was a pained whine which only made Ratchet’s fingers move all the faster over his yellow platting. Why were his systems allowing his spark to do this? Did a part of him subconsciously known that the Allspark was destroyed and, there for, was trying to make sure the species continued? Perhaps the Allspark had done something back then when he had touched it. Regardless, why was his own fricken body against him! He didn’t care if he was the last femme, so why was it doing this to him? Primus, he could barely force his spark chamber to keep closed at the time being so how the hell was he suppose to stop Ratchet! One soft push on his chassis and it would probably open. Speaking of which, Ratchet’s medical fingers were … not helping. True, they were nowhere near Bumblebee’s chassis at the moment, but his spark found the fingers, in a blatant human word, arousing. The poor Camaro was practically shaking as he tried to reset his systems. He had to get away from Ratchet. There was no way the medic was getting near his –

‘Bee’s spark nearly exploded in arousal as the medic ran his fingers along the ridged plating of his chassis. The poor little Camaro let a pained-dragging whimper escape him as his back ached against the other, his spark chamber was practically trying to rip his chassis open. T-the Allspark had to have done this. H-he had never been this aroused before! H-he hadn’t come of age for breeding, had he?

“ **Bumblebee is there internal damage near your spark?”** said the medic as he stalled for a moment. **“Try to remain calm. I’ll fix you up in not time**.”

There was a loud scrapping of metal as the medic tried to snap open Bumblebee’s chassis with his fingers. ‘Bee’s spark flared with anticipation, and the small mech whimpered as he tried to get away from the other. A growl escaped Ratchet as he stilled Bumblebee’s small movements.

 **“Slag it all! You’re chassis isn’t opening! What did you let it rust shut or something!”** growled Ratchet.

The rescue vehicle’s arm quickly slid away from Bumblebee’s lower chassis and headed for a subspace pocket in his leg. He was going to jimmy open the chassis with the help of one of his medical scalpels. Another pained whimper escaped his patient as he placed the newly acquired blade between the plating.

 **“Just be patient for a moment, Bumblebee,”** Ratchet replied softly as he tried to calm his patient, **“I know you’re in pain, but I promise I won’t hurt you.”**

A sudden roar of tires sliding on asphalt rang through the suburbia along with a voice, **“Ratchet are you here? Ratchet!”**

The medic, not expecting to see his commander, twitched and so did the blade in his hand. The medic’s scalpel only slammed into the armor slightly, but the shock was enough to flip Bumblebee’s processors from totally-need-to-get-laid-mode to survival-mode. All systems seemed to go online in an instant and the smaller mech elbowed the medic in the chest, throwing him to the ground. Bumblebee then stumbled forward until he was at least the yard’s length from the other. A cloud of steam filled the yard as Bumblebee forced his coolant fans on, pulling out the heat that seemed to be suffocating his spark chamber.

Ratchet, being too caught off guard to properly react, was still lying on the ground watching the steam settle around the smaller mech as the youth shook. Something wasn’t right. Bumblebee’s systems just suddenly rebooted like there was nothing damaged at all. No, that’s wasn’t right. Mech’s just don’t overheat for no slaggen reason and suddenly reboot! The medic was about to get to his feet and start a full systems diagnostic on the shaking being when Prime suddenly stepped over the fence.

“ **Ratchet …”** said Optimus before he went was silent to properly observe the situation. Poor Bumblebee’s coolant systems were panting and Ratchet was on his back in the dirt. This only led him to one conclusion and the leader chuckled. **“It seems Bumblebee won this sparing match, did he?”**

Ratchet had hit mock three in getting to his feet, pretending to brush off non-existent dirt as he spoke, **“Tuh … please Prime. That little yellow –”**

A loud clapping suddenly came from Bumblebee’s radio system, scaring the medic and interrupting him as well. The small bot then started to do a victory dance, playing victory themed music as he did so. Hey, when he saw an escape route he went for it. If he had to lie and embarrass Ratchet, then he’d do it.

Prime chuckled again at the small bot’s actions and then put a hand on his shocked medic’s shoulder.

 **“I’m sorry to have to interrupt you and ‘Bee’s fun Ratchet, but we have a slight problem,”** said Prime softly in their home language.

 **“What?”** said the medic stupidly as his processors tried to piece together what had just happened; he had been hoodwinked, hadn’t he? Had ‘Bee never been in trouble to begin with? It wasn’t the first time someone had falsified injury.

 **“Will Lennox called and it seemed incredibly urgent … Something about needing to buy a fern right now. Apparently, Ironhide’s too damaged to take him to the store. He also said something about marrying an evil femme, because she has fun torturing robot refugees. He also kind of went into a rant about emotional breakdowns and … stuff,”** Optimus stated in a confused manner. Will had called all but screaming every cuss word in the book, and then eventually broke down into tears about breaking Ironhide. It was disturbing to say the least.

Ratchet gave his Commander a questioned look.

 **“Will you repeat that again?”** said Ratchet **. “I’m not quite sure what that means.”**

Prime quickly stepped over the fence and towards the road.

 **“Neither do I. I had Will Lennox repeated it three times, but the poor human just grew more and more hysterical. We should be moving out Ratchet,”** said the Commander as he shifted his head in the direction of the road. **“Knowing Ironhide, he’s probably over reacting.”**

With that said, the huge Autobot leader transformed and pulled out and Ratchet jumped over the fence ready to follow but, before he transformed, he gave Bumblebee a glare and whispered, **“I will find out what happened here tonight ‘Bee … don’t think I’m done and if this was a joke, Primus help your skinny aft.”**

The small Camaro was only allowed a click of worry in reply as the larger mech transformed and rolled out, leaving him at peace for the moment. Bumblebee then groaned and just flopped on his back on the grass, shaking a few car alarms into use as he did so. He didn’t care if Sam got yelled in the morning for parking ‘his Camaro’ on the lawn. Bumblebee was going into recharge right here.

XXX

“Bee?”

“Yessss.”

“Um … I’m not one to question your scout skills and that but for some reason … I feel like a peeping Tom.”

“ _What you talkin’ about fool?”_

Sam scratched his head and pulled the binoculars down so he could stare as at the bot beside him. Bumblebee was flat on his chassis, his optics focused on the area before him which just happened to be the outlook where both Ironhide and Ratchet were standing, waiting patiently for Bumblebee and Optimus to show up.

“Well, I feel wrong for spying on those guys and why exactly are we hiding out here, in the middle of nowhere, covered in mud and shrubbery,” said Sam as he pulled a fern leaf out of his hair. “… And acting like we’re bad _Rambo_ impersonators or something?”

Bumblebee knew the answer … to keep away from Ratchet, but Sam didn’t need to know that. So he said something else, “Isssssn’t it obvious?”

“You think they found out the plant thing was a lie?” added Sam dryly and then the two broke into hysterical laughter. Sam rolled over and over on his back and poor ‘Bee was shaking so hard Sam was sure that the poor bot would start falling apart at the seams if he didn’t calm him down soon. “Okay, okay, let’s try to work here people. We can’t be official peeping Toms until one of them starts to get naked; wait? Can giant robots get naked?”

Bumblebees scratched the back of his head and looked down at Sam. Primus, he was glad to have Sam. The human could always distract him from his problems. 

“Um Sammmm… we’re kind of na-naked.”

“Oh,” said Sam stupidly as he put the binoculars back over his eyes and watched Ironhide lean against a nearby tree, leaves spreading to the wind and onto the mech’s shoulders. Meanwhile, Ratchet seemed to be tinkering with some readouts because he was standing really still looking at nothing. There was still no sign of Optimus.

“So why don’t we just go down there, again? If this has anything to do with the new Ratchet-phobia you suddenly developed out of thin air, I’m not amused,” hissed Sam.

“ _There’s no jokin’ boy … you’ve won my heart -_ ,” Bee shook his head as the music played. It was a wonder why the two mechs hadn’t seen them up here already with all the racket they were making.

“Okay, care to elaborate my fellow peeping Tom?” mocked Sam as he stared absent mindedly at the fellow transformers through his binoculars.

_“Crime lord? You’re the crime lord! I trusted –_

Sam snickered at the sound of the movie scene and then spoke with a laugh in his voice, “Oh I’m sure Optimus would love to know he’s being compared to a crime lord. Speaking of which - ”

Bumblebee stopped in his mockery to look upward at the road. Yep, there was the _crime lord_ himself and kicking up dust. Bumblebee got as low as he possibly could to the ground and his optics got narrow as he watched carefully. Sam nearly jumped out of his skin as the voice of Optimus Prime echoed near him in perfect sync with the transforming mech half of a mile away.

“ _Evening troops … where’s Bumblebee? He’s usually one of the first ones here_?”

_“Don’t know Optimus, the kid said he was comin’ like two hours ago. Still hasn’t shown his little metallic aft, which I’m so goin’ to kick once he –”_

_“Easy Ironhide_.”

Sam swallowed … why was Ironhide mad?

 _“They’re not home, that’s for sure. I’ve been keeping an optic on him since last night, but I did pick up a faint reading earlier that was in this mile’s vicinity. I thought it was you but you just came over the curve so it must be Bumblebee,” said_ Ratchet as he looked towards the road and so did the others.

 _“If he’s not on the road …_ ”

Optimus suddenly glared right in the direction of Sam and Bee. His optics flashed as if angry. Sam ducted down with a squeak and Bumblebee dropped his battle mask as if trying to protect himself from the gaze as his head fell into the bushes. Sam and Bumblebee looked at each other through the shrubbery.

“You think he saw us?” whimper Sam as he slowly started to raise his head over the bush line to see.

“ _I donno, Jack,”_ commented the yellow Camaro’s radio as he started to raise his metallic head as well.

Sam whimpered and Bumblebee’s engine coughed as they stared at the leader; he was still glaring in their direction with both Ironhide and Ratchet beside him doing the same.

“Are you really sure he sees –”

Optimus suddenly pointed one finger in their direction and then violently pointed down at the ground at his feet. ‘Bee whimpered and Sam swallowed.

“Well, they all could be really mad at the ground or something?”

XXX

Sam rolled his eyes as ‘Bee’s radio played soft music of the death march over his radio, he could feel the small car shaking.

“Come on ‘Bee,” said Sam as he pulled his head in from the wind blowing though the window, “don’t you think the musics too much?”

A congressional Christen station, or something, suddenly swung over the death march’s place. “ _Do not fear death my brothers, let death fear you! For when thy die you will be welcomed into the glorious arms of our lord and savior. Say hallelujah with me brothers. HALLELUJAH! Now let us pray.”_

Sam rolled his eyes before he spoke, “Come on ‘Bee, what’s wrong? I know there’s been something on your mind.”

“There’sss nothing on my headdd Sam.”

Sam rolled his eyes again.

“You know what I mean ‘Bee. You’re acting like you’ve got something to hide. I mean … last night I heard you ‘Bee, in the yard,” the car tensed beneath him, but Sam stubbornly continued because he had promised himself that he’d confront his metal friend. “I heard you crying and asking why.”

Sam shifted in his seat nervously as he waited for a reply. When one didn’t come, he continued, “You can tell me Bee. I’m your friend.”

‘Bee pondered on his charge’s words. Sam had never lied to him nor betrayed his trust. Heck, the human kept the secret of the Cybertronians very existence from his mother. Yet … ‘Bee had kept it for so long, so very long it felt like it was a leach on his spark, and if he suddenly pulled it off soon he’d start to bleed. He’d probably bleed until he died. Yet, his vocal processors reacted to the softness in Sam’s voice. That voice was always so warm, he could never be afraid of that voice.

“Sam, have you ever kept a ssssecret for a long timmmme?”

“Yeah,” chuckled the teenager. “Mom still thinks Miles started the rug on fire during my seventh birthday party. It was me, but I’m taking that to the grave.”

Bumblebee didn’t laugh, and Sam didn’t get his answer as they pulled up to the outlook to see three giant robots glaring down on them like mother hens. Bumblebee allowed Sam to exit before he transformed, making a sound equivalent to a human swallow as he stared at the other transformers.

“H-hello Optimus … be-been waiting longgggggg?”

The Commander lifted his finger ready to scold Bumblebee like a child for spying on them when he noticed the … camouflage. If you call covering yourself in mud and leaves camouflage, especially when it doesn’t even work. The great leader shook his head, whispered something about Primus and then stated, “I would ask why you two are covered in shrubbery, but I have a feeling it has something to do with the plant fiasco.”

“Plant fiasco?” whimpered Bumblebee and Sam in unison as they stared at each other and then back at the … maniacally, grinning _Ironhide_ who was suddenly in front of Optimus.

“Yeah, the PLANT FIASCO!” growled Ironhide as he took a step closer to the two beings and continued in a mocking tone. “That plant fiasco wasn’t funny Bumblebee. Poor Will nearly had a cornea, not to mention my circuit’s nearly overheated ‘cause of the shock when Will told me he hadn’t water his plants!”

Ratchet and Optimus both tried to smother their snickers but failed miserably. Ironhide glared at the two and then returned his attention back to the two tricksters before saying, “And you know what?”

Sam laughed nervously and then said, “Are you going to give us a head start in running for our lives?”

Ironhide peered down at the human for a moment as if trying to decide if he should step on him, but then bluntly said, “Who said I was going to punish you Sam? Bumblebee must suffer alone.”

“Buuut Sam – ”

“Don’t go blamin’ this on your human!” hiss Ironhide as he slapped the yellow bot in the back of the head. “Now prepare yourself for the consequences.”

The small bot automatically turned his gaze to Ratchet, who merely gave him an evil smirk, and then Optimus who was shaking his head in disappointment at the unprofessional actions of a ‘supposed’ professional soldier, and then to the tree in the corner. Um, well, it was a really nice looking tree that offset the outlook nicely, and it was incredibly wonderful to sit under on hot days, but was it really tall enough that he could climb up it and hiss down at the others like a rabid cat? Maybe? Okay. Run for it in one, two –

“Here’s your punishment. Have a fern.”

Bumblebee, who had had his foot already dug in the earth and ready to run for it, fell into the dirt as his foot slid with a thud as he lost his balance from the strange comment.

“Whattt!” stammered Bumblebee as he pulled his face out of the dirt and looked up at the others. The other Autobots all broke into soft calming clicks of humor at his reaction.

“That’s right kid, you have to keep this plant alive for a human month or your hide is mine. Optimus said I couldn’t beat yuh’ if it lived,” chuckled Ironhide. Well, that was sweet revenge if he ever knew any.

The smaller bot slowly stood up and took the little thing from Ironhide’s hands. He glanced down at Sam, looking for help, but the little being was bent over laughing, hysterically, at his plight.

The mech sighed, “Wonderful, I could put it right next to - _screech_!”

The laughter stopped immediately as a growl came from Ratchet. Optimus quickly gave ‘Bee a look that said ‘Just this once kid’ and quickly took the medic’s attention. “Alright soldiers now let’s get to the real discussion at hand. Barricade has been seen prowling around Mission City … looking for something. It is uncertain what he’s after, but since he hasn’t requested peace with us, it’s fairly certain he’s up to no good.”

“What do you think he’s searching for?” growled Ironhide as he shifted on his feet forgetting all about the fern and Bumblebee.

“I’m not sure Ironhide, but that’s something we’ll ask him once he’s been _restrained_ ,” pointed Optimus as he glared at Ironhide. The weapon specialist merely huffed and nodded his head, getting the message.

“Soldiers this is a top priority mission due to the whole panic created by the Mission City Incident. Search the city and _do not approach alone_ ,” Optimus said as he glared at Ironhide, again.

“Don’t worry your head. I’ll keep my guns cool … _maybe_ ,” defended Ironhide though Ratchet gave a small chuckle when he heard the whisper.

“Good, we’ll depart in the morning.” The huge leader turned his attention to Sam and added, “Do you wish to come, Sam? I understand that returning to Mission City will be –

“Like hell I’d miss it!” Jumped the teenager in an excited manner. Anything was better than helping his mother with the garden this weekend. Dang, what was with all these plants lately?

XXX

That weekend, Sam glared at it as it danced in the passenger side seat.

“I can’t believe this. Ironhide is evil. Evil! A true master of chaos. His only joy in life is to cause those below him misery and famine! I say we revolt against the TITIAN! Revolt against his tyranny!” yelled Sam as he pointed at the thing in the passenger set. Said thing merely waved innocently and that irritated the human even more. “That’s it ‘Bee, roll down the window so I can throw it out.”

‘Bee’s engine managed to rev in distaste as he passed another car, “Sa-sam, the f-fern isn’t hurting you, let-let it be, and how-how isssssss anyone starving from-from this?”

Sam plopped back in his seat. “Nobody is. I’m just bored. God, are we there yet?”

“ _Calm down turn around. Hay oh! No move those hips and shake that_ –”

A silence set in the car once the country music became too intolerable for the human who had threatened to throw himself out if Bumblebee didn’t turn off the radio. ‘Bee complied and opted to listen to the traffic and Sam’s heartbeat. It was strange at first to feel that thumping beat inside him, but now it was comforting. He wondered if that’s how Barricade felt about Frenzy. He just ditched Megatron, in the middle of battle, and for what … to save Frenzy? Bumblebee’s circuits suddenly jumped to another point. This warmth he felt with Sam, or any other human for that matter. Would it feel the same if it were a sparkling? Would he be able to hear its pump beating slowly? Would he feel it shift and move inside him as it grew to maturity? Would it be a nice feeling? Would it be warm all the time?

Gruesomely, the memory of how sparklings were made quickly crossed his mind again as Ironhide pulled in front of him, mocking him for his slow pace while thinking. ‘Bee cringed. Did it really matter? He wasn’t going to tell _anybody_ so why dwell on such a question?

As if on cue, the small human in his seat suddenly poked a nerve. “You never told me Bumblebee. Why were you so upset the other night? What secret have you been keeping?”

Bumblebee’s engine sighed. Sam had just called him Bumblebee and not ‘Bee. It was serious issue in the human’s mind and he wasn’t going to let it drop until he got an answer. Slag it all! Why did humans have to be such curious and persistent creatures? He didn’t know what to say … so he remained silent. This of course only aroused the human’s curiosity even more.

“What could be that bad? What, were you secretly a Decepticon pretending to be an Autobot this whole time, and now with Megatron dead you want to come clean about being a Decepticon?” Sam glared at the radio, his grin suddenly disappearing. “Bee, come on pal. Don’t tell me that’s the truth.”

“Bee … ”

“Bee … ”

“BUMBLEBEE!”

“NO!” roared Bumblebee as he swerved in traffic, nearly taking out a Ferrari. “Dooon’ttt ever call mmeee a Decepticon Sam! Never! Theyyy wronggged me in mo-more ways then yo-you know!” 

The car once again went silent and Sam felt his heart give a tug. He didn’t know what to say. That was a huge insult to an Autobot, wasn’t it? It was like telling a Christian that they worshipped the devil. The human twitched nervously and shivered, waiting for Bumblebee to say something again … or yell, but if ‘Bee was going to say anything at all Sam would never find out when a voice danced over the radio as well as the sound of a honking horn from outside. Sam jumped and ‘Bee swerved again, nearly plowing into Optimus.

“Bumblebee,” said Prime’s voice urgently for the comm. link. “Bumblebee report! Is something wrong? I felt your circuits flaring from here.”

There was nothing but a thickening silence. Then, without warning, the little car slammed on his breaks sliding past Optimus and toward a rest area across two lanes of traffic. The road was quickly filled with squealing brakes and the honking of horns as the cars in the other lanes panicked. Sam squawked in distress at the sudden change in movement and flew into the passenger’s seat, slamming his back into the door. The human didn’t even get time to hiss in complaint though as Bumblebee came to a sliding halt in a parallel parking place between two other parked cars. People in the area made jumps and dives to get out of the way thinking the car was going to roll, but the Camaro didn’t. Instead, the door flew open and out came a screaming, flying teenager with a fern in hand. Before the human could even properly hit the ground though, the car’s tires were squealing as it burst out of the rest area as quickly as it came.

… There was an awkward moment of silence before anyone even spoke.

“Hey kid, you piss off your girlfriend or something?” said a younger man as he ran over to the shocked Sam to help him to his feet.

“Did they hurt you?” continued the stranger as he looked the teen over for missing body parts.

Sam shook his head absent mindedly as he stared at the disappearing yellow dot in the distance before replying, “No, I think I hurt him though.”

A different screech of tires suddenly filled the rest area making Sam and the man beside him jump as a semi, Topkick, and medical emergency vehicle came slamming into the area. The Semi’s window quickly rolled down and a man with brown hair and deep blue eyes looked down at the human, his worry evident.

“Sam, are you alright? Is Bumblebee damaged, I mean hurt?” stated Optimus as he eyed the human next to Sam.

Sam swallowed. Would ‘Bee get into trouble even though he was the one who kind of started the fight? It was fairly obvious to him that his pal was having a really difficult time at the moment. Sam wasn’t sure what the problem was but it was tearing his guardian apart. The human swallowed. He’d have to give Bumblebee time to tell him. If that didn’t work then he’d then tell Optimus.

“N-nothing, Optimus,” said Sam with a fake laugh. “I just had to wiz and I told Bumblebee to go ahead without me since it would be easier for him to do his duties as a scout without the plant and me lagging him down. You mind if I get a ride with one of you … as soon as I take a wiz that is.”

Sam swallowed and placed the plant under his arm as he walked towards the bathrooms, trying to ignore the strange glances he was getting. Ugh, this was aggravating. He needed to know what was bothering ‘Bee. He didn’t care if he had to use the old ‘ _I’ll paint you pink while you recharge’_ threat. He had to know and when Sam Witwicky set himself up for a mission he finished it … or came home in a body bag.

Ratchet was silent for a moment until Sam had completely disappeared, along with the human that had helped him to his feet, “ **Optimus?** ”

 **“Yes Ratchet?”** stated the Autobot leader in a soft knowing tone in Cybertronain as the three of them parked.

“We should keep a close optic on Bumblebee. Something is not right. I mean last night’s actions were troubling enough, be it part of the plant joke or not, and now with Bumblebee just abandoning Sam like that. Optimus, something is seriously wrong.”

 **“I know Ratchet. I know,”** whispered the semi as he watched Sam jog toward them. **“Watch him but don’t let him know you are. I do not want him to feel we do not trust him.”**


	3. No Voice in the Matter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, Heather brown aka IthicaJackal made some fan art for this fic. She let me put it on my deviantart page (link on profile page).

A grey twilight had set on the city making the air seem tense like the city was still under attack by the Decepticons … yet he knew that there were no Decepticon. Well, except for the one he was looking. Bumblebee still had a little trouble realizing how easy it had been defeating the Saleen the first time. Of course then he was fighting for more than just the Autobot cause … he had also been fighting for her cause; the right to not be afraid of what she was. He had been fighting for all the femmes … well, the last one at least. That’s probably why he won. It was personal. 

Bumblebee turned a corner … in truth he really wasn’t looking for Barricade at all. His sensors weren’t working overtime and he was not making much of an effort at all. To an outsider it might seem that the owner of a yellow Camaro was slightly depressed and just driving around the same block over and over again trying to outdrive the haunting of their mind. ‘Bee’s engine sighed. Why had he yelled at Sam? Sam was his human; a human that he could entrust any of his secrets and worries to and here he had thrown him out on the street. Yah, he was the very definition of a good friend. 

‘Bee sighed and turned another corner … it was then that he picked up a signal. It was coming from the tracks a good quarter of a mile away. The yellow Camaro stopped … why should he care again? The Allspark was gone. Dead as a doornail … how something that was never alive in the first place could be dead was something that astounded ‘Bee, but at the present moment he liked the human expression. The little mech sighed and slowly turned his wheels in that direction. Yes, he was a femme that had joined the war to find the Allspark and now that Allspark was gone, but ‘Bee also joined for another reason … to kill those slaggen Decepticons that had wronged him so deeply and destroyed his race. If the only reason to remain was to kill Decepticons that was fine by him. Yes, he’d deactivate them all so they could partake in the darkness that clouded ‘Bee’s spark before they died at his guns. They’d see the darkness in his spark as their own spark faded and died … he would not suffer alone!

XXX

Optimus felt Sam twitch in his seat as he watched another yellow car go by that wasn’t Bumblebee. The Autobot leader knew it wasn’t ‘Bee long before the car even came into sight… he hadn’t felt a spark signature and a mech could only hide their spark signature up to a certain radius, yet ‘Bee was a spy thus he was rather good at hiding his. Maybe he should keep an optic out just in case as well. 

Now to the mission at hand. This wasn’t exactly the circumstances Prime wanted for this discussion, but it was sufficient nonetheless. It was fairly obvious that ‘Bee had fallen out of character once the Allspark was destroyed. One might even called it depression if a being decided to use the human term. The little mech did his best to hide his stirring sadness, regret, hatred, or whatever emotion it was that was testing his CPU so … but Optimus noticed. He’d practically raised Bumblebee from a sparkling, along with everyone else on the Ark or course, and therefore he knew that something in the little Camaro’s mind had changed. The only source of comfort from his mental anguish seemed to be the humans. At first it was just Sam that he seemed to cling too. To ‘Bee’s fellow Autobots it seemed to be a protective motion that any guardian would do so they accepted Bumblebee’s growing distance from the ranks, yet when Sam would be gone for a weekend or anything of the sort Bumblebee wouldn’t meet with his fellow kind; instead he’d seek out Mikaela, Epps, the Lennoxes, Maggie, and even Glen so he could stay in a human presence. Optimus wasn’t sure if any of his soldiers had noticed the sudden lack of one of his men, but he did. He was not so blinded by the war that he forgot all mechs were in need of more then physical care from time to time … ‘Bee needed mental support for some reason and as commander Optimus had an obligation to find out what. He missed his playful little ‘Bee among the ranks. 

“Sam?”

The human jumped in his seat hitting his nose against the window that he had had his face practically smooched against as he watched out for ‘Bee. “Ouch! … dang it! … Um, I mean yes Optimus? Have you found Barricade? Cause if you have let me out here and I’ll meet you later. I like not being squished if you know what I mean?”

A silence came from the radio for a moment before the Autobot spoke again. “Sam we would never let any harm come to you.”

The human flopped back into the leather seat and picked at the fabric for a moment before he answered. “I know Optimus … I know. So um, you find him?”

The semi’s engine sighed. “We both know that no one is looking for Barricade right now Sam. Ratchet and Ironhide are both looking for ‘Bee even though the mission was specifically to look for the Decepticon.”

Sam flinched. “I-I’m sorry Optimus. It’s my fault he ran off. Please don’t be mad at Bumblebee. I- I -

“Shush, don’t blow a gasket small one. Just tell me what you told him to upset him so.” Optimus decided that maybe it would be best to start the conversation out slow and then work up to the questions at hand. He knew Sam well, but he held nowhere near the trust that ‘Bee did so he had to earn a little at the moment before he asked Sam about what has been eating at ‘Bee’s processors.

Sam tapped his fingers on Optimus’s steering wheel, twitched in the seat, and then whimpered. “I ask-asked him what secre-umm … what was bothering him. I kinda then made a joke of asking him if he use to be a Decepticon who was undercover for Megatron and now with him dea-deactivated I asked if he was going to come clean about being a Decepticon the whole time.” Sam tightened in his seat waiting for Optimus to slam on his breaks like ‘Bee did and throw him out into traffic, but that didn’t happen. Instead a soft rev came from the engine that couldn’t be described as anything else but a sigh. 

“I will admit Sam that that wasn’t quite the thing to say to Bumblebee, but I must apologize for him none the less. Bumblebee has always had a hatred deep inside his processors for all Decepticons in general. He doesn’t come out and state it, but I know by the way he reacted around Decepticon soldiers that had reformed into Autobots … he was cold towards them. I’m sorry Sam.” Optimus stated softly. 

Sam relaxed a little surprised that he hadn’t just been yelled at. “It-it’s okay … um, Optimus. Bumblebee said something weird to me. He said that Decepticons wronged him in more ways then I know. How exactly did they wrong him more then anyone else? Not that it’s my business or anything. It’s just I kind of, you know, it’s not really my right to know or anything, but it could just happen –

“Sam. I understand.” The human stopped twitching immediately. Optimus sparely wondered if this was how it was for Barricade day in and out with Frenzy inside him. It was a wonder why the little gremlin wasn’t a piece of scarp metal already. 

“Now, you said ‘Bee stated that the Decepticons had wronged him in more ways then you know?” Optimus felt a suspicion rise in his processors … Sam practically knew everything about ‘Bee. Well, everything considered important at least. 

“Yah?”

“And what don’t you know Sam?” Asked Optimus more to gather his own thoughts then really demanding any answer from the child.

“I … I don’t know.”

XXX

‘Bee’s form slid silently behind a dumpster which was located next to a crumpling wall. He was hiding. A few moments ago he had just picked up two spark readings from an abandoned, decaying maze of old buildings that were located near the tracks. The spy’s optics shifted … he could pick their energy signatures up, but he couldn’t identify precisely where the other transformers were. The Camaro’s systems were slammed into high alert and his engines struggled not to rev in distaste at the thought of Barricade as he traveled a little deeper into the concrete maze. He was going to make Barricade pay. He didn’t know if the Saleen had killed any femmes personally, but he was a symbol for the being who had; so he’d suffer the fate ‘Bee wished to bestow on Megatron if he had been strong enough … rip out his spark while he was still online and hand it to him. 

The small mech’s gun hummed as he slid against a brick building’s wall trying to keep as close as he could for cover yet not ruin his paint job. He quickly peaked his head around the corner of the alley wall … there were only more alleys. And behind door number two … nothing again. The yellow mech turned ready to walk down the opposite direction when he jumped and ducked back behind the nearest wall … he had heard it. The soft clicks of the cybertronian language. The Camaro’s engine went cold when he heard another click answer the first. Either Starscream had returned to earth or that little gremlin Frenzy had gotten a voice upgrade. 

The spy slowly gathered his courage and started to take slow and cautious steps toward the alley in which the clicks were coming from … then there was a splash as he stepped into a puddle. The clicks suddenly stopped and the Camaro flinched expecting a rain of fire to come his way, but there was nothing. The continuation of the soft clicks confirmed that they had not noticed him and ‘Bee continued forward with a single thought on his mind … watch for puddles.

Bumblebee was careful to keep in the shadows of the buildings as the clicks grew louder … yet he still couldn’t see the creators and he was almost to the end of the alley. The clicks were so close! Sadly, Bumblebee knew that the only way to see the villains was to peep his head around the corner of the brick wall to see. If a robot could swallow Bumblebee did just that as he peeked around the corner. 

The Camaro’s optics widened with surprise. It wasn’t Barricade at all! Primus, he’d never even seen these mechs before … of course they were no longer in there proto forms so they could be Soundwave and Shockwave and he’d never know until they blew his mother board out! Well one way to find out who they were and he’d find out in the way he knew best … spying.

The mech whose paintjob was that of an army green camouflage print shifted on his feet and continued to speak to his companion who was slightly taller then him. “Have you found it yet?”

“No …” stated the orange mech as he continued to stare into nothing, reading some kind of readings no doubt. “It is essential that we remain hidden that that much I am certain of … even though I am rather curious on getting my hands on a human specimen.” 

The other mech looked at him funny. “ … Um, let’s concentrate on the mission at hand.”

The orange mech’s searchlight lights, planted next to audio censors, flashed slightly in a disgust and then continued to scan … that was at least until his systems screamed through his speakers and the spotlights planted on his head slammed into Bumblebee’s optics blinding him. The young mech wasn’t quite expecting being spotted like that and in a shock he took a step backwards slamming the back of his legs into a dumpster, which then caused him to fall into a puddle. There was an echoing splash as the now filthy Bumblebee tried to get out of the water and to his feet … and there was also the humming of charge cannons. The smaller bot quickly found himself out of the deep puddle and hiding behind a crumbling wall that was half his height. Once he was securely hidden behind his cement and brick barricade Bumblebee found himself firing his own arm cannon of the top of wall without even looking or taking aim. He just wanted to get those other transformers as far away as possible.

There was a grating reply of gunfire as the sound of shattering concrete filled the area along with rapid gun fire. Bee ducked back under his barricade to keep his arm from being blown off … the firing stopped for several seconds and then Hound poked his head from behind his cover hissing. “Identify yourself mech! Autobot or Decepticon? I am Autobot Hound and my companion is Autobot Wheeljack. If you are Autobot identify yourself, if not surrender of suffer the consequences!”

The cold that had been dragging on Bee’s circuits seems to disperse like steam into the air. The small mech had to dig his fingers into a stone wall to resist the urge to jump over his barricade and tackle Hound into a hug. Slowly, Bee raised his head so he could peak a quick look to make sure … instead he was blinded by Wheeljack’s ears. The small mech dropped his mask trying to shield his optics as he called out. “I’m Autobot Bumblebee –

… or at least he had tried to.

The only thing that had been able to escape his battered vocal processors was a sorry excuse for ‘I’ and then his vocal processors released a long dragging scratchy noise before they went completely silent. There was a hiss from the other two mechs as they shielded their audio processors. After the two Autobots had finished wincing Wheeljack turned to his attention to the bot beside him blinding poor Hound in the process. “I don’t believe an Autobot would have such a rude reaction.”

“Gah! My optics!” Hound pushed the other mech slightly. “Blind him not me! And you over there.” Hissed the hummer like a rabid raccoon as he pointed his steaming gun in Bee’s direction or more specifically, towards the two optics that were just poking over the barrier looking astounded. “Identify yourself as Autobot or surrender if you want to get out of here in one piece.” 

And Bee tried to speak, oh how he did, but now his vocal processors were completely off-lined. It seems that all the screaming and yelling matches he had been having for the past few days had finally decided to kick in with a vengeance. The small bot cringed … if he tried to make any sudden movements, like waving his hands exuberantly in the air, he’d get shot sooner than later … best to keep calm and collected or end up really dead ended.

The green mech pulled his lip plating up into a scowl as the silence and the little bots frightened stare continued. Wheeljack quickly turned off his searchlights before looking upward from his defensive stance at Hound, “I take his silence as a defiant action and we must therefore conclude that he’s Decepticon… so what’s the next course of action Hound?” 

Hound looked at his fellow Autobot and stated to him. “Start charging your cannons… I’d like this to end peacefully, but when has that ever happened … I don’t even know why I bother to ask anymore.” Hound sighed and slowly stood a little taller calling out to the Decepticon who had yet to move. “Come out peacefully or we’ll shoot you out!”

‘Bee winced. Hound had used that scratchy tone that called for blood … he was ready to shoot and slag the peace talks. It was like he had just told an empty promise. The smaller mech resisted the urge to lunge back behind his ‘safe’ wall as he slowly stood up holding his arms at a revealing angle so both mechs knew he wasn’t charging his cannons up for a sucker shot… the spy might have laughed at the shocked look on Hound’s face, but those soft confused features suddenly turned tense. ‘Bee felt his knees jerk ready to run as he stared at the incredibly tense mechs opposite of him … Primus, no wonder Decepticons never surrendered. 

Every gear in Bumblebee’s form suddenly winced as Hound stepped over his wall. His form was held tall and intimidating as he slowly walked forward, all the while fumbling with a subspace chamber in his leg. Suddenly, a pair of energy cuffs clanked out and ‘Bee couldn’t help but swallow. He had forgotten that most Autobot’s even carried those anymore. He didn’t have a pair mind you since he was a spy and was more hide and run then direct combat … but it didn’t mean he didn’t know what they did. They kept a bot from transforming more then restraining him. It was considered easier to chase down a mech that couldn’t transform and being cuffed pretty much made one helpless in the cannon issue as well: they were design perfectly so arm weapons would be unable to slide out of compartments. Primus, he hoped he could get out of those immediately once Optimus and the others saw him, because he’d be helpless until they were removed … helpless like last night as Ratchet ran his fingers over his chassis. ‘Bee’s spark danced at the thought … believe him he had tried to delete the memory, but his processors just wouldn’t let it go! Wait? Was this really the time for such thoughts? Hello about to die! Get your processors out of the gutter!

The young mech finally snapped out of his thoughts when a loud crunch of stone caught his processors. Hound was so near he could see the imperfections in his paintjob. The green mech took another step closer as if he was testing ice and then whispered more to himself then the mech in front of him. “Primus … this is probably the first time a Decepticon has ever surrendered to me.”

There was a soft humming coming from behind the hummer. It was Wheeljack and his cannon was fully charge. The orange mechs eyes were squinted and his form was tense. This was too easy! Far too easy! The mech’s gaze shifted upward for a moment … he knew this was a set up and he wasn’t going to be caught off guard. True, he wasn’t the best shot in the Autobot army but that didn’t mean he was going let his guard down. The mech’s shoulder planting twitched as he listened to a human truck go by. The mech then turned his full attention back to the mech slowly inching forward … and then there was a shot. 

At least that’s what the genius thought the sound was. ‘Bee knew it was merely a backfiring vehicle, but that meant little when the two Autobots started shooting at him.

The yellow bot was only given enough time to duck behind his brick barricade before he started to feel impact shots against his hiding place. Rubble and grit were flying all over like hail as the shots grew more intense and well aimed as the two bots try to shoot through the wall. In fact, the very pavement was now shaking and Bumblebee could feel his very gears shake at the vibration. The small mech quickly pulled himself into the corner of the brick wall that converged with an abandoned building. He pulled himself into a tight huddle covering his audios with his shaking hands … was this it? Done in by his own companions? Was it going to be painful or would he just be gone? … Maybe this was best. Ratchet or someone was bound to find out that he was a femme. This was surely a better way to go then to die on his back during a birthing. This was a more noble way to go right? 

Suddenly, an exceptionally well placed shot blew through the brick wall blinding ‘Bee with brick dust. The small bot could only shake … at least he’d die a soldier; at least he’d die a solider and not a femme. Hopefully Wheeljack and Hound wouldn’t take it to bad once they realized that they had not only killed a fellow Autobot but the last femme. ‘Bee tried to make himself smaller still as the wall started to shake as footsteps thundered forward ready to give the killing shot. … Huh, true proof of his femme-ness right there before he died. Here he was on the brink of deactivation and he was still thinking of someone else. 

XXX

Ironhide sighed as he turned the corner. He could have sworn that he had picked up on two spark signatures in the area. Oh well, he wasn’t really looking for Barricade at the moment anyway. What was up with that youngling anyway? Bumblebee wasn’t the type to just up and abandon a mission … his charge for that matter! Something was wrong… Was he upset about the fern? “Slaggen youngling can’t take a joke.”

“Ironhide.” Came a voice.

The weapons specialist’s tires squeal and before he could even comprehend what he had done he was pointing his gun down at a semi who had a very shocked Sam Witwicky staring up at him … he kid didn’t even noticed that he had dropped his coffee all over himself right away do to the surprise. Then the next thing the weapon specialist knew a dance club was going on inside Optimus’ss cab. At least that’s what it looked like as Sam fought with his two shirts trying to get them off. 

A sigh escaped the great leader as Sam continued in his spilt coffee dance and song routine occasionally hissing ‘that was fucking hot’ and ‘Starbucks is the spawn of Satan’ every few grunts. “I knew he was going to spill that in my cab … solider you do realize what stealth means right.” 

A shocked look overcame Ironhide’s face plates and then a frown as he cross his arms in an offended manner. “Of course I know what stealth means Optimus.” 

“Then why are you standing in your regular mode in the middle of a populated street?” Asked Optimus trying to keep the growl out of his vocal processors.

The weapon specialist flinched … he had good instinct, but sometimes his instincts overloaded his rational thought processors and got him into dire circumstances such as the one he was in at the moment. Ironhide quickly turned around causing sparks to dance on the pavement as his metallic feet slid. There was no one on the sidewalks … these were all housing residents and apartments which meant no stores, and everyone had their blinds closed … there were also no cars coming or going up the street. Ironhide turned his head back towards his commander. “But there’s no one around.” 

Sam pulled himself off the floorboards where he had collapsed from his coffee dance, shirtless. He gave Ironhide a raised brow and then pointed to a side street. “Except the bus full of Japanese tourists.” 

The weapon specialist cursed himself as he titled his head to the side. He grinned nervously and shrugged his shoulder plates as the tourist leaned out of the bus windows gapping slightly. “Hi folks … Um, welcome to Mission City?” 

They continued to gape.

Sam slapped himself in the forehead and then asked Optimus softly. “Can anyone say famous last words? … What now?”

A rev came of from the Peterbilt engine. “Is there a normal human way to explain this Witwicky?”

Sam stared back upwards toward the shocked tourist and scratched his chin. “Well … we could say he’s a government experiment that’s escaped the base or something like that.” 

“… I don’t think so Sam.”

The human shrugged as he fished out an unstained shirt from his bag to replace his coffee stained one that now hung limply on the passenger seat. “Well I thought it was reasonable. Okay, time for option number two then.” Sam grinned as he put on a pair of shades, his yellow jacket matching nicely, and then he violently kicked open Optimus’ss door earning a small disproving growl from the commander, but entrance was everything when it came to the movie business. 

“People, people!” Yelled the teen as he strutted forward taking his place next to the nervous Ironhide. Only some of the older tourist stopped staring at the giant robot, others continued to gape. “Come on guys. You’re ruining my set! There are no Japanese tourists till act four, scene eight. Please wait till then. Hell, you guys are on the wrong set anyway. That scene takes place near the bay.” 

All the tourists were now staring at him … especially the ones that knew English. The white, middle aged driver blushed and finally blurted out. “What! This … this –

Sam waved his hands as if in an agitated manner. “Yes, yes. This is a movie set. What do you think there are real giant robots gallivanting around without anyone knowing? Now this is a very expensive scene to shoot people so please remove yourselves in a timely manner AND NO PICTURES!” He snapped when about a dozen tourists grabbed their cameras and camera phones all at the same moment. “We can’t have any scenes from the movie leak!” There was a collective sigh as all the picture taking devices disappeared back into their hiding places.

“Thank you, now get off my set! The camera van is supposed to park there … oh, and don’t forget to come see the movie!” Sam called as he waved to the departing tourists. There was a moment of silence while Sam just stood there smiling until he turned to Ironhide and just smiled up at him in a mocking manner. “Am I good or am I good?”

Ironhide’s engine sighed. “Thanks kid.” Stated Ironhide as he looked over his shoulder quickly making sure that no-one was around. There was a hum of shifting metal as the mech seemed to cave back into himself … but he was only halfway through his transformation when there was a backfiring engine making the poor Topkick jump… and then there was an echoing sound of weapon fire. 

“It seems we got trouble.” Growled Ironhide as he leapt forward transforming in midair and speeding off in the direction of the shots leaving a squeal of tires in his wake. 

Sam’s shoes echoed over the pavement as he moved out as well; jumping onto a moving Optimus as the huge truck threw its doors open. “God, being around you guys is starting to make me feel like I’m in a bad action movie. Just let me know when the stereotypical 007 villains start shooting at us will you?”

XXX

Sam was dropped unceremoniously four blocks later beside a decaying brick wall … the area was full of them. The kid hissed as he stood up rubbing his butt. Ironhide and Optimus both transformed at that moment starring down at the human. Sam tried not to flinch. No matter how many times they did that Sam couldn’t’ help but feel intimidated and left wondering when the chase music was going to start so he could run away and hide like in a bad Tom and Jerry cartoon. 

“Stay here Sam while me and Ironhide check this out.” The two mechs stared at Sam for a moment as the last rays of the day danced on their metal and then they were running forward into the maze leaving the human only to watch … Sam hated being useless. There was soldier’s blood in his veins now and it called for combat as little as he’d like to admit it. Sam found himself taking a step forward, but he somehow found the strength to stop himself from chasing. He might be a warrior, but he wasn’t made of steel.

“Jerks.” He huffed as he flopped behind the dumpster feeling crappier about being useless then being left behind. “If I’m lucky a hobo will come by and put me out of my misery before the mold in this trash decides to do me it.” 

Optimus took one last look at the human general direction hoping this wasn’t a trap so Frenzy could get revenge by attacking Sam. He doubted it, but the thought was completely banished from his processors as he spotted the cause of the problem. There was an orange mech firing rapidly at a wall as well as another mech hidden on the opposite side of the open alley. The green seemed to be growling random insults as he shot at the same wall making the area a dust filled war zone. 

The Autobot leader had only just slid to a stop when the orange mech noticed them right behind him. He stopped shooting for a minute just to stare at them as if curious … and then he blinded Optimus and Ironhide with the search lights on his head. “Identify yourself or perish.”

Ironhide had his gun risen and ready to shoot when he stopped pulling his arm down. A shocked look over came his faceplate as he stared into the blinding light. He knew that grating voice … or more exactly those blinding lights. “Primus, Wheeljack I like the ability to see … You better turn off those lights before the commander loses his patients as well.” 

Optimus had been fully ready to shoot. The semi’s optics got wide, yet he didn’t lower his defensive stance as he gave his weapon specialist a questioning glance. “How’d you know he’s Wheeljack Ironhide?” 

“One only needs to be blinded so many times Optimus.” Mocked the Topkick as he slipped next to the surprised mech. The orange Autobot looked from Ironhide and then to Optimus with a shocked look that stated that he was still trying to catch up. “Report soldier … what’s up with the shooting round and who’s that?” 

Wheeljack followed the direction Ironhide had tilted his head. He stared at the green mech for a moment and how his whole form shook from the rapid gun fire he was firing at the wall. “It’s Hound.” A sigh of relief escaped the other two mechs and Optimus was soon leaning for cover next to the other two Autobots as well. “And at the moment we’re fending off a lone Decepticon soldier.”

Optimus’s armor seemed to stiffen. “Has the Decepticon identified himself? Tried to surrender?”

“He never gave us a name or status. He did lured Hound out with a fake surrender and then there was a shot. We’ve been trying to shoot him out since then.” Answer Wheeljack as his steaming cannon started to charge again and he raised his head back over the top of the wall. “Optimus do you want him deactivated or captured?” 

The leader’s eyes dimmed and then brightened as he thought on the matter. “Alive … he might know what Barricade is up to. He’s not Barricade right? Black vehicle pretending to be a police vehicle?”

“What is a police vehicle Optimus? Are they yellow and screechy?” Asked the bot in a curious tone almost forgetting the battle in front of him. “There is so much information on this ‘World Wide Web’ and I have not had much time to research everything.”

“Screechy and mean … not yellow.” Growled Ironhide as he joined Wheeljack in peeking over the edge. “You’re orders sir … looks like Hound is getting tired with all that rapid fire.” 

Optimus slowly stood up not bothering to take any cover provided by the wall. “Ironhide shoot through the wall right there.” He pointed to a soft decaying part near the base of the opposing wall. “I’ll take care of the rest.” An axe like weapon slid into place as the great leader took a step forward nodding to Hound to let the other bot know that he was friendly and going to end this. Hound looked surprised, but couldn’t help but smile as his shots grew faster. 

There was only a split second to blink as one of Ironhide’s cannons let loose a mighty shot…. And it shot right through leaving the wall shivering and shaking as it threatened to collapse. The ground then seemed to shake as the larger Autobot leader dashed forward. It was only a few steps thanks to his long stride and soon he was sliding to a halt behind the barrier with his gun pointed and axe weapon ready … yet he did not move on the target. All he could do was stare at the shivering being as his glowing optics dimmed slightly. The yellow mech seemed so small pulled into a corner with his knees crammed against his chest and his arms over his head. So small that he could be a youngling. Generally, the great leader would consider this type of behavior from a Decepticon to be a lure into a trap … but this mech was truthfully scared by the readings Optimus was receiving. 

“A rookie huh?” Optimus’s voiced calmly. He slowly put his gun and axe away as he leaned down on one knee next to the shaking mech. Rookies were no longer a common thing on the battle field … the long disappearance of the Allspark had been the most reason for this, yet from time to time there would be new energon to spill when a starving neutral was forced to choose a side. So it was safe to assume that this Rookie was once a neutral and had finally grown tired of starving. 

Prime’s fingers slowly ran over the small mech’s helm earning a body shaking shiver from the filthy yellow mech. “I’m not going to hurt you … come, let me look at you.” Optimus slowly snaked his fingers into the crook between the crossed arms and cupped the mech’s chin slowly willing him to look up. The older mech tried to calm his circuits … this little guy had to be a youngling of some sort which could only mean that the neutrals had a femme hiding somewhere in the universe. It could turn out that this gun fight was a blessing in disguise. 

… but that was not what Prime received. “Bumblebee?” 

The little mech merely gave a soundless shriek and pushed away from his shocked commander only to then pull himself into a tighter ball and rock back and forth much like his charge did when he was extremely upset. Optimus remained there in shock for a moment before he suddenly grew angry standing to his full height and growling at his soldiers. “Ironhide get over here!” 

The weapon’s specialist gave him a bewildered look from behind his barricade and then gave Wheeljack a confused look. The technician merely returned it with a small flash of his spotlights stating his own confusion. If the Decepticon was injured wouldn’t it make more sense to call Wheeljack and not him? And what was with the angry tone? Optimus rarely got angry without due reason. “Yes … sir.” 

Optimus watched his weapon specialist silently until he turned his attention to Hound and Wheeljack who were now standing side by side with confused expressions before him. Wheeljack found the ability to speak before his comrade. “Optimus wouldn’t you rather have me look at the prisoner and not Ironhide. I doubt he has the medical capabilities to deal with –

An angry shriek came from behind the commander as Ironhide finally reached the back of the wall. “Bumblebee! You slaggen idiots! I’m going to scrap the both of you –

Insults and curses continued to escape the Topkick as he stormed back towards the other two Autobots, his guns blazing. Optimus put out his arm to catch the enraged Autobot before he could rip the other two apart. “I’m fairly capable of dealing out punishment Ironhide … you were his caretaker more then I.” Stated the leader as he glared downward on the shorter mech. Ironhide nodded, slowly allowing his guns to return back into their chambers. Optimus’s optics dimmed and then he stated in a softer tone. “Get him to calm down and see if he has any injuries. Call Ratchet as well.” 

Hound and Wheeljack, if they had the ability, would have been swallowing as Prime’s angry form towered over the two of them. 

“What is wrong with you two? You nearly killed a fellow soldier and most of all it was Bumblebee!” An agitate whimper escaped Hound and he took an automatic step in Ironhide’s direction. Optimus stopped him with a glare. “I want a report on why Bumblebee’s in a shell shock and I want it now.”

Hound’s fingers twitched. Optimus was a leader known for his cool head … but this was Bumblebee they were talking about. The last youngling … maybe the last youngling ever. The scout swallowed and saluted his superior. “We didn’t know he was Bumblebee Optimus. Bumblebee frightened us with his sudden appearance and there was a small shoot out before we stopped. Then I went forward in requesting him to identifying himself after I identified myself and Wheeljack as Autobots.” Hound’s businesslike tone suddenly turned soft. “He never said anything … we assumed he was a Decepticon playing with us.” Optimus flinched as the scout suddenly grabbed onto his arm looking him in the optic. “PRIMUS! Optimus please tell me we didn’t hurt him! Please.” 

Optimus’ss angry features slowly melted as he looked into the worried optics of his old companion. “He’s a bit shaken, but I see no major damage. Ratchet will be here in a –

There was a scream of sirens and a dance of metal as Ratchet slid across the alley before coming to a stop in front of his commander. He gave the two other mechs a glance before confronting his commander. “Where’s Ironhide. He was muttering like his CPU was on the fritz. All I kept hearing was slaggen idiots and ‘Its okay ‘Bee.’ Is Bumblebee badly damaged?”

Optimus pinched his face plate as if he had a bridge of a nose. “Figures Ironhide would choose to have a mental breakdown now … ‘Bee’s just shell shocked at the moment.” The worry on Ratchet’s faceplate diminished slightly. “There was some friendly fire exchanged between our new companions and ‘Bee. I don’t know why he didn’t identify himself. Check him over quickly for damage to his internal systems. I can’t think of a reasonable explanation for Bumblebee not identifying himself so hopefully you can.” Ratchet nodded shifting on his feet in a nervous manner as he looked around for the little trouble maker. “He’s behind the wall there with Ironhide.” 

Ratchet quickly left his commander, so he could continue to talk to the two new recruits, and hurled himself over the wall in a simple bound making the weapon specialist jump at his sudden entrance. The medic’s frown increased when he saw ‘Bee pushed tightly against a wall. After taking a few curses from Ironhide about being slower then rust, Ratchet was able to take his place next to the smaller mech. The search and rescue vehicle observed his comrade for a moment while leaning on one knee. ‘Bee had pulled his knees back into his chest and had buried his head under his arms in a protective ball of sorts. Ratchet didn’t have to scan ‘Bee to know that his systems were all in an erratic panic at the moment. The scout had been through a lot, but Ratchet doubted that the transformer had ever come so close to deactivation with his back pinned against a wall. Plus, he had been so agitated for the past few days that this situation was just murder to his systems stress wise. Normally, Ratchet would be yelling at his patient for such stupidity … but something had to be wrong with ‘Bee for not having identified himself. 

The medic ran a calming hand down ‘Bee’s exposed back. The small mech flinched slightly but slowly started to calm down by the fifth stroke. It was an old secret that Ratchet had learned with raising younglings and ‘Bee would be considered a teenager in human terms so he was still susceptible to old calming tricks. Slowly, his scan’s started to tell him that the panic systems had started to turn off. “There you go ‘Bee just calm down. No body’s going to hurt you.” The Camaro’s cooling systems slowly started to intake at a regular rate. “Good … now let me examine you.” 

The spy slowly raised his head. Ratchet gave him a soft smile as he wiped the coolant from the smaller mech’s optics. “See … everything’s fine now. Just some friendly fire. Now do you have any injuries?”

‘Bee nodded his head.

Another frown threatened to overcome the medic’s faceplate, but he resisted the urge. “Tell me where Bumblebee … despite your dinged and scratched up armor I mean.” Added the medic quickly as he started to look over the youngling. His paintjob had been murdered due to the falling bricks. 

‘Bee merely shook his head.

“You’re not injured?” Asked the emergency vehicle as he stopped inspecting the other slightly confused. 

‘Bee shook his head. Coolant had started to leak from his optics again. 

“Tell me where.” 

“I don’t think he can.” Added a voice behind Ratchet. Ratchet flinched when he heard the voice. Oh dear Primus no. Please, for the love of all that is in working order please don’t let it be who I think it is. “I’d check his voice processors … here we can use my searchlights since this side of the planet has turned away from the star it orbits.” There was a light which blinded ‘Bee into throwing his arms up to protect his optic revealing his neck joint. 

Ratchet groaned and buried his head in his hands. “Hello Wheeljack.” 

“It is nice to see you Ratchet … sorry it wasn’t under better circumstances.” The inventor rubbed the back of his head which now had a small dent on it … no doubt Ironhide’s work when Prime wasn’t looking. “Believe me, we didn’t know it was him. We asked for him to identify himself ... he just remained silent.”

A small growl instinctively escaped Ratchet and the orange mech took a frightened step backwards. “Not at you.” Added the medic hotly as he took advantage of the exposed neck by pushing a small plate, which then slid to the side revealing small scarred pieces of wiring and metal gears that were now blackened as if burned or overheated. Ratchet growled again. This all could have been avoided! All of it if he had been allowed to replace Bee’s vocal processor! “Slag it all!”

‘Bee flinched as he felt Ratchet lean forward pushing his fingers into the small mechanical piece poking at small circuits and basically feeling around. It was a rather … uncomfortable feeling, but the small mech could practically feel the rage dripping off the other so he made no movement to shy away. The Camaro couldn’t help but jump as he felt another pair of hands join in. He was blinded at the present moment, but he knew it was Wheeljack nonetheless. In the back of the spy’s processors he always wondered how Wheeljack managed to repair any mech with the way he always seemed to blow up half his experiments. A pain suddenly shot through ‘Bee’s processors and he couldn’t help but arch his back against the building as he squirmed in pain. He felt Ratchet plant a firm stilling hand on his shoulder plate keeping him still; Wheeljack did the same ... the medic of coarse didn’t remove his fingers though. He just remained still as ‘Bee’s form slowly overcame the jolt of pain. 

“Is it really bad?” Came a worried voice from behind the light. It sounded like Hound. It was then that Bumblebee noticed the shifting of rock and granite in the background. It sounded like the rest of the Autobots were now standing around the medic watching.

“I just need to check one thing before I can conclude my suspicions.” Added Ratchet dully before he pressed his fingers a little deeper into the processor. ‘Bee practically convulsed. Primus, it hurt! The small mech then tried to push away, but he felt Ratchet quickly garbed his arm instead of his shoulder predicting the involuntary need for the Camaro to remove the pain. “Just bare with me Bumblebee … just another inch or two and we’ll see what’s wrong with you.” 

Coolant was now dripping down ‘Bee’s face. He had never realized how much he had valued the ability to scream in pain till now. Primus, what the Camaro would give for one good scream! The little mech’s body jerked as Ratchet’s medical fingers got a little deeper and then there was a soft click as Ratchet pressed roughly on some scarred plating blocking holes. 

The emergency vehicle’s cool voice then echoed over the light. “Try to speak.”

‘Bee tried to scream, but that only earned him more pain as the small metal plates in his vocal processor weakly scrapped against Ratchet’s fingers.

The medic waited patiently for a few moments feeling the small plates scrap against his fingers. He knew that this was painful by the violent jerks in ‘Bee’s form. He finally sighed pulling his fingers out. Bee’s form went limp and the coolant from his optics stopped flowing. Wheeljack turned off his lights as Ratchet showed his digits to the other … they were covered in sludge and tiny little metallic pieces. 

“Seems that we are going to have a long night aren’t we.” Added Wheeljack softly as he left the now still ‘Bee’s shoulder go to finger the oil Ratchet was looking at with distaste. “Yep. That explains a lot.” 

“Explains what?” Growled Ironhide as he shifted, throwing the youngling a worried look.

“Why he couldn’t reply to Hound’s demand for identification.” Cut in Ratchet. “Optimus it wasn’t their fault for the friendly fire. If it was anyone’s it was mine.” Optimus gave his old friend a questioning look as he tilted his head in an almost human manner. “It’s ‘Bumblebee’s vocal processor. I knew they were badly damaged, but I went against my medical instincts and didn’t operate when I had the chance. At least then it would have only taken me a human hour of two to replace the vocal processor, but now … the entire chamber’s stripped. I’m going to have to pull out the chamber and everything since it’s nothing but scrap metal now. Then once that’s done I’ll have to weld the damaged surrounding chamber and finally finish off by reinstalling a new vocal processor. ‘Bumblebee will be able to speak, but not very well for a few weeks since his systems have to adapt to the new parts.” 

The little mech, who had been out of it till then, sat up immediately earning him a glare from Ratchet. Bumblebee shook his head and threw Optimus a pleading look. The leader merely glared down at him. “Don’t give me that look Bumblebee. I can’t have a half defective soldier endangering the lives of the rest of his commands. Ratchet, Wheeljack can you make the repairs or not?” 

Ratchet tried not to smile. If Optimus ordered ‘Bee to have the repairs the little spy was less likely to struggle and this whole situation would just be a distant memory. Plus, this probably meant that Ratchet was about to get that med bay he had been hinting towards Optimus since landing on the dirty planet. Don’t get Ratchet wrong, he loved tearing down the occasional dirt road throwing up rocks and mud, but those kind of elements were rather unwelcome under the chassis, especially so close to the spark chamber. True, the vocal processing chamber wasn’t to near the spark chamber, but near enough that a medic could easily run a stray hand over it if he wasn’t paying attention, contaminated it with unwanted minerals. “Yes … but Optimus the early repairs were a simple procedure compared to this. I can’t be in an open environment in fear of –

The great leader waved his hand. He already knew where the medic was going. “Yes, we’ll decide on a base and the first thing we’ll do is build a medical bay for you Ratchet.” The commander tried to keep a calm to his vocal processors. “Exactly how long can Bumblebee’s condition wait?” 

Ratchet’s smile from the question slowly grew into a frown. “It could wait for a few weeks, but the small metal shards from the cracked vocal processor might find their way into his energon lines … and maybe his pump.” There were nervous twitches from the rest of the group. Metal shards in the pump were so agonizing that some mechs literally try to offline themselves to stop the pain; that is if the little shard didn’t clog the pump all together killing the mech instantaneously. “But for safe measure I would like to be able to have the damaged processor removed by the end of this week … so five human earth days.”

‘Bee kept looking from Ratchet to Optimus and then the others. It was his vocal processor, not theirs! If he didn’t want the repairs he shouldn’t have to have them! The small mech’s form shivered as he slowly leaned against the wall pulling himself upright. The talking immediately stopped among the older mechs. 

“Bumblebee, kid sit back down your systems are still in shock. It’s dark out and humans can be really deaf sometimes. Just allow your systems to cool. Then we can head back to Tranquility.” Stated the weapons specialist dully as he put a hand on ‘Bee’s shoulder trying to get the smaller mech to sit down once again next to the kneeling Ratchet. He could tell by looking at Bumblebee that he was extremely upset … well, Ironhide would be upset to if his comrades had nearly killed him too. 

‘Bee slapped the hand away making the Topkick take a shocked step back. The little mech threw an angry glare up at his commander and then his radio blasted. “I ain’t your toy boy! Quit playing with my heart!” 

“What was that?” Said Hound stupidly. He hadn’t had the chance to explore the human radio yet. 

Optimus glared down at his subordinate and crossed his arms over his chest as he towered over the smaller mech. “Soldier are you defying a direct order?” ‘Bee flinched. “You are to go calmly and orderly with Ratchet by the end of this week and have your repairs done! Now you may want to choose your next song lyrics carefully Bumblebee. Don’t make me forcefully keep my earlier promise to Ratchet about holding you down.”

Bumblebee’s optics dimmed and he found his head hanging. Primus, this wasn’t happening!

“That’s a good soldier. Now go get Sam behind the dumpster up the alley. You are to remain with your human and out of trouble for the next few days. I want your injures taken care of immediately, we’ll look for Barricade on a later date.” Added Optimus softly when he noticed that ‘Bee’s optics were now so dim that they seemed black. The great leader put a calming hand on his shoulder. “Think of it as a five day rest.”

‘Bee nodded resisting the urge to run away and find the nearest corner to have a mental breakdown in. He had five days … five days of freedom … five days of fear … five days till the end of his life and the beginning of a new one as nothing more then a breeder… He had to find a way to stop this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> XXX 
> 
> Paw07: First off, what kind of vehicle should Wheeljack be and what style of Jeep do you want Hound to be … the most fabulous car I’ve ever driven is a 1992 Buick people so I need an outside source … Also, I so wanted to make Wheeljack orange and so I did. What? In the movie Ironhide is black when he’s so red in the cartoon so I have an excuse. Plus, to cover my own aft, I see it since this is the movie verse I’m allowed a little creative air as long as the characters are close to what their characters are suppose to be like. Thank you Wikipedia and other sites I’ll mooch off.
> 
> Optimus: Yes, there’s nothing quite like the World Wide Web.
> 
> Paw07: Why are you in my author notes Big-O? 
> 
> Optimus: Big-O? (Searches World Wide Web) Do I look like a huge skyscraper tall robot with a human partner called Rodger Smith … who’s in love with an android? Okay? That’s … different.
> 
> Paw07: Admit it … you like the show. (Giggles at the thought and irony of calling Optimus Big-O) Hey, Optimus can I have a cool watch I yell Big-O into and then you’ll magically pop out of the ground somewhere?
> 
> Optimus: (sigh) Just start typing the next chapter!
> 
> Paw07: Why! It won’t increase your chances of getting goochy with Femme ‘Bee? I might just make her fall in love with Frenzy out of spite! You better suck up Big-O and be getting me a Rodger Smith watch otherwise you might end up at bottom of the list! … Or how about I make Wheeljack the main mech or … or … Megatron. Yah, I’ll bring him back from the dead. Or maybe I’ll make ‘Bee a lesbian bot who falls for Mikaela. Or -
> 
> Optimus: What do you mean femme ‘Bee! Is there something I should know! Tell me before I –
> 
> (Closes document to get out of trouble … te he.) :3


	4. Duct Tape Fixes Everything

 

Sam was patiently waiting for the hobo of doom, when he felt a shadow crawl over his form. The human looked up with a bored expression, already knowing it was an Autobot. His eyes widened for a moment as he looked up at ‘Bee. The human stood, fury running like fire in his veins.  Sam was ready to curse his huge guardian, but his tongue held. Bumblebee was shaking, literally shaking. His form seemed to be quivering and Sam couldn’t help but let a muffled breath escape him as he ran up to his pal.

“Bee! What’s wrong! Bumblebee! Oh my god … where’s Optimus and Ironhide? Were they attacked by Decepticons? Oh god. Oh god!” Images of a dead Ironhide and even deader Optimus were flashing before his eyes. What was Lennox’s number? He needed to call someone! And why wasn’t ‘Bee talking! God, were the others dead, injured, getting ice cream and ‘Bee was crying because he hadn’t been invited! “Talk to me Bumblebee! What’s wrong! Where’s Optimus and Ironhide! Talk to me God dammit!”

The yellow mech flinched at the raised tone in Sam’s voice as if he had just been slapped and preceded to take a small step back. In truth, Sam’s screaming had felt like a slap from Barricade, and he had dug his claws. Bumblebee knew that after throwing Sam and the plant out like that he didn’t deserve any comfort. He didn’t deserve five days for freedom with his charge. Sam was his mountain, as funny as that seems with him being a few meters taller than the small human, but he had come to rely on Sam for emotional support and now when he needed it the most … he knew he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t … ‘Bee slowly took another step backwards making a puddle splash. Maybe he should start running now. He had to get away before he could no longer run. The rest of the Autobots would probably be watching him as if they were Laserbeak for the next five days to make sure he didn’t suddenly break down from his internal wound.

Sam’s tongue suddenly drowned in on itself … ‘Bee took another step away from him. It looked almost as if ‘Bee was afraid … ashamed. “ … Bumblebee?” Stated the humans as he took two steps forward. The small mech shook his head and then the next thing Sam knew there was a flash of yellow and then the alley was dark again. The teenager was silent for a moment … ‘Bee had run away from him. “Wait! Come back! What’s wrong ‘Bee! Come back!”

XXX

Ratchet watched their commander continue to speak to the new arrivals. Right now the conversation mostly contained a tone of disappointment in not being more professional. True, it was rather unprofessional for those two just to start shooting like that, yet the medic could relate. Here they were on a new planet and the first mech they meet won’t identify himself. He’d be jumpy too, but Ratchet couldn’t just forgive the both of them that easily either. Either way, it seemed someone was automatically volunteered for the digging crew when the location was established for the Autobot base.

The medic shifted on his feet once it became established that Ironhide wasn’t going to rip neither Wheeljack nor Hound apart so he was going to go check up on his soon to be ‘in’ patient and Sam. The human was probably hysterical and was probably about to blow a blood vessel … the medic twitched. Okay, now he had to go make sure the human wasn’t dying.

The medic had only walked a few meters when he turned the corner heading in the direction where Sam was supposedly supposed to be hiding. Ratchet no sooner turned the corner when he was prowled down ... by a streak of yellow.

A mangled yell, a crash of metal, and curses of cybertronion bounced off the walls before ‘Bee’s optics stopped vibrating in his head. It wasn’t until he felt a pair of hands push upward did he realize what he had ran into Ratchet.

“Bumblebee get off!” Hissed the medic … generally he wasn’t the type to hiss, but he wasn’t too fond of being attacked by one of his patients. ‘Bee quickly jumped away sliding on his aft so he could get as far away as possible. The last thing he needed was another systems failure like he had in the Witwicky’s backyard. The little bot was about to whisper a soft sorry, but could only cringe as the broken plates in his vocal processor rubbed together brutally.

A growl came from Ratchet. “I think five days is too long of a wait if you ask me. Bumblebee you can not talk and even attempting to risks the loosening of those metallic shards. Perhaps, I should ask Optimus if I can have you under optical watch until a med bay is established.”

‘Bee cringed and slowly got to his feet … that’s right. He had five days to run and hide. He had five days to hide his signature, get the slang off the planet and get himself a new name … well; not being able to talk probably was just as good too. Hell, nobody could ask you who you were if you couldn’t talk. The small mech took a step backwards only to trip into a large pair of arms.

“Who, there kid.” The yellow mech shuddered as he looked up at Ironhide. The larger Autobot was frowning but a stiff smile formed on his face as he looked over at Ratchet. The CMO was pulling himself up carefully checking for dents or injuries. A gruff laugh escaped the weapons specialist and a snicker escaped Optimus whom had just appeared behind him. “Hey Optimus, it seems ‘Bee found a new way to ignore his checkups … a game of kill the medic or in ‘Bee’s case _try_ to kill the medic.”

A small chorus of snickers escaped the three bots behind the weapons specialist. Ratchet merely huffed as he raised himself to his feet. “Very funny Ironhide. I’d watch that vocal processor of yours because you might just find Bumblebee using your voice.”

Ironhide huffed. He would have talked back to the CMO, but he really liked his cannons and other body parts where they were at the moment. Perhaps he’d tempt fate another day. The weapons specialist looked away from the medic and back down to the youngling … were his sensors on the fritz or was Bumblebee’s core temperature a little hotter then usual? Probably still a little panicked. “’Bee, where’s your charge?”

Bumblebee’s shoulder wings stiffened for a moment and Ironhide felt the youngling’s spark ache. The weapons specialist was about to start running towards the direction where he and Optimus had left Sam when he heard a soft clapping of shoes coming their way. Wheeljack and Hound automatically turned into there alt forms of a H1 hummer and a customized DeLorean. Optimus and the others of course didn’t bother. They all knew those slapping sneakers, not to mention the fact that the human was cursing ‘damn transformer’. The little human finally turned the corner and gained a look of surprise.

 **‘Ironhide, Prime, ‘Bee, Ratchet! What are you doing!’** Cried Hound over his com link as the human stared at them. **‘One of the natural inhabitants has seen you … we must be going before it informs the rest of its social pack.’**

A small chuckle escaped Optimus as he patted the twitching hummer on its hood. “Calm down Hound. This is ‘Bee’s charge Samuel Witwicky. This human along with few other humans helped us defeat Megatron.”

Sam blinked and swallowed the line he had been waiting to yell. _‘Oh my god you guys are alive … where’s the ice cream?_ ’ Ice cream aside, it was now apparent why ‘Bee had led him on a wild goose chase. Apparently, he wanted to show him the new recruits. The human quickly smiled and scratched the back of his head as he looked at the ridiculously out of place vehicles that were parked by Optimus’ss feet. “You can come out I don’t bite … and ‘Bee why didn’t you just say there were new Autobots instead of leading me on a wild goose chase?”

Ironhide shook his head. “Naw kid … ‘Bee’s vocal processor is fried. He couldn’t tell you if he wanted too.”

“Oh,” was all Sam could state stupidly before he jumped to the sound of two vehicles simultaneously transforming.  The huge orange bot automatically stepped forward and Sam couldn’t help but let out a small gasp as the bot picked him up.

“You mean to tell me Ironhide, we have a live, organic, ‘human’ subject?” Wheeljack was ecstatic. He had always wanted an opportunity to see a multi-cellular organic life form, but to actually be able to look at one and study one? Well, his engine was just purring with bliss. What he would give for a good lab and a week alone with the tiny little being.

“Human Subject!” Was all Sam could wail as he clung to the metallic fingers trying not to fall and go splat below. The human was then blinded as the orange bot’s ears turned on and started to scan him. “Gah! I’m blind!”

 “Humm … interesting.” Said the mech dully when in truth he was as excited as a sparkling … speaking of which. Earth was a nice distraction from the fact that there might not ever be another sparkling. The mech swallowed that truth and went back to inspecting the small being; running the scanners in his pointer finger through the human’s hair identify pigments, cleaning solution, and the fact that the whole brown mass was nothing more then protein from dead cells collected into strands.  Then there was the matter of the skin … amazing how frail it was; yet the being could thrive so well. Wait … what of the plant originated material covering the rest of the body? He wished to see these ‘reproductive organs’ first hand. The World Wide Web was covered with the exposing of these parts, yet images only offered so much scientific detail especially with poor picture quality. The mech tugged at Sam’s shirt slightly uncertain if it was female or male; Sam merely slapped the offending finger away while simultaneously trying to fix his hair.

“What exactly is the purpose of this outer armor the human is wearing? It seems far too thin to really be of any use. Plus, it’s also a hindrance in the reproductive act from what I understand from the World Wide Web.” The human squeaked as the giant robot tugged at his shirt once again with his large fingers. “I must have to cut it off. Hold still.”

A squeal of horror escaped the human as a blade appeared on Wheeljack’s other hand. “’Bee! ‘Bee! Oh my god; stop moping around like you’re already dead and save me from being diced and/or molested! ‘BEE!”

Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

XXX

Sam stomped up to his room not wanting to be near his guardian, who had nearly allowed him to be dissected by that orange freak, because he was to busy sulking in his own problems! He had lost his voice before so why was he so depressing and infuriating to be around now? The annoying little Camaro had the nerve to only played one song over and over again all the way home; it was just a lullaby with piano music. There were no words yet Sam could tell it was an incredibly sad song. At first he stated that he forgave Bumblebee for his earlier actions thinking the music was a ‘ _please forgive me for my earlier action of abandoning you and this is my regret music’_ , yet the music continued. It probably would have continued too, if Sam hadn’t began threatening the transformer by staining his interior… ‘Bee’s engine didn’t even growl in distaste at the threat. Once home the small ‘bot acted even stranger like he was about to cry … if giant robots can cry that is.

A few hours later Sam had all but gotten over his temper tantrum and couldn’t keep his concentration on the homework in front of him. For some reason his eyes kept traveling to the open window to spot the incredibly still Camaro in the driveway. This bothered Sam immensely. Generally, when it was as late as it was, Sam’s parents would retreat to their room leaving the small ‘bot free to roam the lawn and lay in the grass … Ron believed that a pack of dogs was taking nightly visits through his lawn. It was far past midnight and ‘Bee hadn’t even moved. The human groaned as he surrendered to his emotions. He’d go ask ‘Bee what was wrong … but how exactly was he suppose to ask? He was rather sure that ‘Bee wouldn’t have a song for what was bothering him and he didn’t exactly have any transformer sized pens. Sam sat for a movement tapping his foot in thought. It then occurred to him as childhood memories re-rooted themselves into his conscious. Sam quickly grabbed a notebook and his Boy Scout guide that was neatly tucked in a shoebox in his closet.

…

Bumblebee sat there silently in his car mode not even twitching a tire … he was unable to move. Half of him wished that the world would suddenly forget about him due to his stillness, but he knew that wasn’t true. It was like the humans saying, ‘The world keeps turning.’ He wanted to sigh, scream, anything, but he had no such ability at the moment and that made this situation a thousand times worse. He wasn’t even able to cry … or say goodbye. In his stillness the small femme inside him had made a decision … he’d leave Earth as soon as he said goodbye to his charge. He’d just wait for Sam to calm down and then in a day he’d disappear forever. Get a new alt form, change of color, and the matter of vocal processors. What did it matter? Where he was going he wasn’t planning on seeing another transformer for a very long time. If he was lucky the processor would partly heal on its own leaving him with a half voice or he’d never speak again.

The small Camaro found himself jumping on his wheels as he felt a hand run softly over his hood. His sensors all kicked on and he found himself looking at a rather melancholy Sam. The human shifted on his feet making his JP’s wisp in the cool evening air. He then scratched the back of his head allowing his hair to become victim to the same soft night wind as it danced over the suburbia.

“Um … ‘Bee you want to talk … you don’t have to or anything … it’s just that you seem kind of sad … not that I know if you’re sad or anything. It’s just …” the human was silent for a moment as he tried to come up with the right words. He knew he sucked when it came to speaking his own native tongue, but at least he was trying. Sam dragged in the evening air and swallowed it. “You’re my best pal ‘Bee. Please talk to me … I hate seeing you so sad. I know there’s more to this then a fear of needles.”

It was like a stab to his spark … he was leaving his human, his Sam. Sam, the best companion a being could ask for. The least he could offer him was the truth right? At least when he was forced to leave, Sam would understand and perhaps forgive him. _Please let there be forgiveness_.

‘Bee’s scanners danced quickly over the suburbia … not a soul in sight. The human was only allowed a small chirp of surprise when he found himself snatched up by ‘Bee’s hand as the Autobot stepped over the fence, ducting the power lines (despite the oh-so tingling effect he liked when he ‘accidentally’ touched them, but would never admit to purposely doing), and stepping into the Witwicky’s backyard. The mech sat down silently and looked at ‘his’ Sam. He’d miss his human so much that he was sure that he’d die as soon as Sam passed away in a little under eighty years. It sickened him to know how little time these wonderful creatures had.

Sam swallowed nervously as Bumblebee focused his blue optics on him … that was quite a surprising _up_ he had just had. He’d never admit it, but he was always afraid one of these times one of the Autobots were going to drop him. “So … so we need to talk ‘Bee.”

The little mech seemed to sigh with his shoulder wings and then softly ran his fingers over the place in his neck where his vocal processor was located … what was left of it that is.

Sam nodded. “I know … but I also know that there’s more then one way to talk to people. ‘Bee will you go to the World Wide Web and look up something called Morse Code?”

The little Autobot looked away from Sam a moment and then his eyes brightened. “Yep, I’m a little rusty, but that badge on my wall isn’t for nothing. Let’s talk Bumblebee … or tap in you case.”

Bumblebee put his human down on the grass and pulled his knees into his chassis as he laid his head onto of the bended appendages … he just stared at Sam for a moment. He was scared … the secret was so old. Would he bleed to death if he picked at the scab, for that matter ripped it off completely? Sam smiled softly up at him and placed a hand softly on ‘Bee’s leg armor in a comforting gesture … _it was okay_. Sam would understand. Perhaps, the only way to heal a deep scar was to have someone else stitch it up for you.

Sam felt the metal turn warm slightly beneath his hand and ‘Bee’s optics brightened a little from the grey tint they seemed to be holding. So was he final going to tell him what this secret was and Sam would comfort him the whole way through; even if the truth would burn the very skin that was touching the ‘bot. Bumblebee had saved him, so now it was time for him to save him as well.

Bumblebee laid his head back down on the top of his knee and then buried his face in the crevice of his knees hiding his face … as if he was ashamed … as if he was physically in pain about what he was about to say. Then one of ‘Bee’s fingers started to tap on the leg plating near Sam’s hand. ‘ _I have a secret_.’

Sam quickly flipped through his book and wrote down in his note book. He read quickly and softly, “I know ‘Bee … you can tell me.”

A chorus of soft metallic taps entered the air. ‘ _I know and I trust you … it’s just that I’m scared Sam. I’m so scared._ ’

Sam twitched slightly as he deciphered the code. ‘Bee was scared? What could he possibly be scared of? Here he takes on mech twice as large as him and yet he’s scare of telling a little secret. Maybe he was right about him really being a Megatron lackey … but if ‘Bee was he wasn’t anymore. Sam would forgive him. He could never hate ‘Bee. “It’s okay to be scared ‘Bee, but don’t be scare of me okay? For one thing you’re a few dozen times my size and could easily step on me,” ‘Bee’s engine puffed, yet Sam continued in a more serious tone, “but you know I’d never hurt you. Have I ever given you a reason to distrust me?”

There was a moment of silence until a soft clicking reply filled the air. “ … _promise not to tell?_ ”

Sam pulled a quick grin, trying to keep a hopeful cheer in the air with his smile. “Gosh, should we make a packed in blood while we’re at it?” He ran a calming hand over one of ‘Bee’s fingers when he noticed that the mech’s form had tightened. This was not a time for jokes it seemed. “It’s okay … I promise not to tell.”

One of ‘Bee’s blue optic appeared over the top of one of his knees. _“Remember that talk we had about there being no more sparklings.”_

Sam stumbled over the word sparkling, but quickly figured out what it meant when ‘Bee tapped the word ‘baby’. “Oh yeah … hard to forget that you’re the soul benefactor for an entire races extinction.” Said Sam bitterly. Was ‘Bee mad at him and was about to blurt out that he wanted to leave him! Was he upset that he was the caretaker to the harborer of all mech death? Was he ashamed of Sam? A finger running down his back and ruffled the top of his head in an affectionate manner telling him other wise. Sam looked up at his ‘Bee. “Um … sorry about snapping. I just feel … responsible. Whatever you got to say is okay Bumblebee. My feelings won’t be hurt.”

‘Bee’s optics darkened slightly _. “We’re not exactly extinct.”_

Sam’s mouth dropped open and then he jumped to his feet. “What do you mean by that! Is there another All-spark or do the fragments still work? What! Cause if I have been moping for the past few days for no reason I’m going to be so pissed.”

The tapping was almost too soft to interpret. _“No … there’s a femme.”_

Sam dropped his note book and gapped at ‘Bee.” R-really? Where? Is she here on Earth?”

 _“Yes.”_ Was all the mech rasped. Sam went stiff when he noticed that ‘Bee was shaking and he was positive that if the Camaro had a voice box he’d be sobbing. Sam swallowed as a sickness crawled in his stomach. Gears were starting to click and Sam’s mind was racing to keep up. Optimus would have told him there was a femme after Sam’s small I’ve-killed-you-all-freak-out the other day; hell, all the mech’s would probably be having a party right now with this femme as the main guest of honor. Yet, there was no party so did that mean -

The human swallowed feeling a suspicion rise in his gut. “’Bee … where is she?”

‘Bee flinched. It always surprised him how smart humans could be if they put there mind to it. It took him a few moments to gather the courage, but the youngling found himself tapping, “ _Here_.”

Sam took a step back, his eyes wide. His blood ran cold … it was as if he had been dumped into the arctic tides and left to freeze like a Sam-popsicle. “You’re-you’re a femme?” There was a long moment of tension before ‘Bee finally nodded. The human swallowed looking around the yard nervously as if he was making sure nobody was around to notice him doing something horrible like burying a mutilated corpse in his backyard next to his mother’s begonias. “That’s not a good thing is it … at least not to you is it?”

‘Bee nodded; his frame was rattling so hard he was sure that everyone in the neighborhood could hear it, yet he knew that wasn’t true.

The boy licked his lips before continuing in a broken manner as if he was confessing a murder. “Why haven’t you told Optimus … or the others?”

A soft clicking danced over the airwaves seeming to brush itself through Sam’s hair. “ _I don’t want to be a tool. I don’t want to be ‘barefoot and pregnant.’ I don’t want to be a treasure and no longer a person._ ” ‘Bee could have gone on but for some reason his hands started to tremble. He didn’t think he had the gears right now to describe his fear of being ‘taken’ by a different mech every night to make sure there was diversity amongst the population. The fear of being touched like he was a toy … the fear of being with sparkling, feeling it grown next to his spark, and the truth that he could die from it; to die an un-honorable death.

Sam smiled and swallowed his own worries. ‘Bee needed him right now. “Hey … a promise is a promise and I promised not to tell, but you know what?” The small mech looked up at him expecting something like ‘I’m still going to tell Optimus’s but instead he got a giggle, “I guess I’m going to have to get you some pink dice for you rear-view mirror now huh?” 

The small little being couldn’t help, but yelp as he found his form being pulled upward. Sam had been cupped into Bumblebee’s hands much like a child would do to a kitten … and ‘Bee was hugging him against his chest carefully yet tightly nonetheless. The human didn’t know what to do. He could feel the metallic being shaking and knew that the spy was crying, with joy or fear he did not know. He just laid his head against the metal chest that seemed so warm. He then planted his hand on the chassis spreading his fingers as wide as he could … he could feel the soft thump of ‘Bee’s pump. Ratchet had explained to Sam once that the pump was the equivalent of the human heart. The human pulled himself into a ball as he leaned into the warm metal closing his eyes. “It’s okay ‘Bee. I’ll protect you … I promise. I’ll save you the way you saved me.”

XXX

It was wet and it sunk so deeply into Sam’s cloths and skin that he was certain that he was drowning in the cold. Slowly, the world bled into light as the teenager opened his eyes … he stared for a moment uncertain what he was looking at. His mind danced in question until he realized where he was and why he was so cold. Slowly, the human sat up lazily running his fingers through the wet grass. He was on his lawn and resting in the little notch between ‘Bee’s head and arm. The transformer must have fallen into recharge with Sam in his arms. The teenager swallowed as he looked at the transformer. The small mech was on his chassis and his face was facing him, optics dark. He looked so peaceful in recharge that it seemed that last nights’ conversation had never happened. A part of Sam wished that it hadn’t, because he wasn’t sure he could keep his promise. How was he, a mere human, supposed to stop a crazed medic the size of a small skyscraper? Plus, there was the other medical mech now that they had to hide this secret from; that Wheeljack character. Sam twitched at the thought of the mech. He was never going to be alone with that insane robot ever! He was not going to be a lab rat … or molested.

The human sighed and slowly stood up feeling his muscles sting at the sudden movement. He straightened slightly and looked down at ‘Bee’s sleeping face. He liked seeing Bumblebee like this. A calm that the little transformer hadn’t had since … since forever, but he knew it wasn’t going to last. The Camaro would just wake up in a few minutes and be in a total panic thinking how he had one less day to be free of Ratchet’s fingers. God, what was he going to do? Well, he and ‘Bee could move to Canada and become park rangers. That could be fun … of course, he knew nothing of the wilderness expert. Sam sighed. Okay, option number two: um … um? Okay, nothing there. Option number three: fake ‘Bee’s death. No, that wouldn’t work. How would he explain that without a body? He was rather sure he couldn’t pull off a doppelganger in four days to give to Ratchet. Okay, option number four, he could -

“SAM!” A harsh, demanding cry suddenly draped itself over the lawn as the door to the back yard sprung open.

The young Witwicky let out a strangled cry of surprise. Oh god! How would he explain a giant robot sleeping on the yard? He doubted that giving his mother the puppy dog eyes and asking ‘Can I keep it’ was going to work. Oh god! Oh god! … Okay, God wasn’t helping. Oh Buddha! “Mom I can explain.”

“You better.” Came his father’s voice. The teenager felt the need to puke rise in his chest. “My lawn is not a truck stop and here I thought it was a pack of wild dogs!”

“Wha-

“Get that Camaro off my lawn!” Growled Ron before he re-entered the house leaving Sam dumbstruck until he finally decided to look to his side and see the parked car beside him … damn, ‘Bee was good.

Judy rolled her eyes at her husband and waved her hands in the air to get the attention of her shocked looking son. “And once you’re done with that come in and get breakfast. I don’t want that hot girlfriend of yours thinking I don’t feed you. I mean really, if you get too thin what will she eat up?”

Sam couldn’t hide his smile that quickly ran like water over his face as an idea came to him. He tripped in the grass in his haste to kiss his mother and chime, “You’re a genius mom! Ratchet can’t fix something if it’s already been fixed.” And before his mother could mutter a word of confusion, Sam was in his Camaro and down the street leaving his mother standing there blinking.

“Um … Ron?”

“What?” Growled the man as he stepped next to his wife taking a drag of his morning coffee. “Don’t tell me it leaked something in the grass!”

“No.” She answered questionably. “Um … since when was it fashionable for teenagers to wear nothing but ninja turtle PJ’s in public?”

Ron walked up to the backdoor and stared out at the empty lawn. “I don’t know … teens are always coming up with weird styles now days.”

XXX

Mikaela rolled over in her bed curling deeper into her covers. This was heaven. She finally got to sleep in and man was it wonderful. The teenager’s mind started to grow fuzzy as sleep lubed her back into dream land … and then there was a crash. The beauty sat up in alarm, which then turned into a scream as she caught sight of someone trying to break into her room from the second story window. The intruder thrashed about swearing obstinacies as he struggled to free himself from the curtains he was presently entangle in. The female didn’t even take time to think as she grabbed the baseball bat located next to her nightstand, jumped to her feet, and started swinging it.

The assailant was only allowed a whimper as one good swing caught the back of his head and he was out for the count, allowing a loud thud as he hit the floor. “Huh! Thought you were going to rape me and steel my DVD player weelll noooooo Bitch! You thought you could take me on huh! Well, you aren’t no gangster cause this bitch ain’t going down without a fight!” Hissed the female in an over-exaggerated display of street cred as she jumped off her bed dragging the bat with her. She poked the wooden instrument at the collapsed body on the floor … the assailant was draped in her curtains so she had no idea how old he was. The female poked the guy in the head once emitting a small groan from him. “Damn … he’s not dead.”

There was a panic screech from an engine and Mikaela found herself staring eye to optic with Bumblebee. The poor bot was looking horror stricken from the bat in Mikaela’s hand to his charge. A horror movie scream escaped his speakers as he did the classic ‘Scream’ pose and started pacing around the yard in an utter panic … it was a wonder how nobody saw it. After that, it only took her a moment to figure out who the stalker in the ninja turtle PJ’s was. “Oh my god Sam!”

…

“Soooo.” Slurred Mikaela as she dabbed the small gash on Sam’s forehead with a paper towel. “You wake me up, force me to beat you because you scared the crap out of me, drag me out to my dad’s garage once you’re coherent enough to walk, and then expected me to magically fix Bumblebee who isn’t even damaged. Um, Sam. I think I hit you harder then I originally thought. Maybe I should get you to the hospital.”

Sam pushed her hand away and a frown crossed his bruised features. “Bumblebee is broken! Why else would I rush down here in my PJ’s, jump into your window and ‘allow’ you to beat me.”

The car junkie had her phone out so fast it was the definition of warp-speed.

“What are you doing?” Asked Sam giving Bumblebee a nervous look as the bot sat up a little from his corner in the garage.

“Calling Ratchet you moron! If Bumblebee is hurt internally, which I’m guessing since I see no leaking fuel lines or ripped off limbs, and I need him to get over here as soon as possible. Why’d you even bring ‘Bee here if he’s injured Sam!” Hissed the girl in a worried breath that was threatening to become hysteria … she wasn’t good with death or the fact that she couldn’t do anything about it. “You are so irresponsible and … and –

The girl didn’t even get to continue in her rant as a pair of yellow fingers snatched her phone away as handed it to Sam. The teenager turned it off as soon as a metallic voice rang over the speakers. “Ratchet already knows and is getting the supplies necessary to fix it … the thing is we can’t let him. We need to fix him first.”

 _‘Please help me, I think I’m falling …_ ’ came ‘Bee’s speakers.

Mikaela looked worriedly from the yellow bot, whose optics were fixed on her with this sad little darken look, and then to Sam who looked just as crest fallen. “Why not?”

Sam looked at the grease and dust on the floor of the garage, and then looked at ‘Bee. The small bot nodded his head in a sad tone and then gave the girl a pained look. “Promise not to tell?”

She rolled her eyes. Now this was just getting childish. “What? Did you put Popcorn in ‘Bee’s engine and you want to remain alive? Well, if you were stupid enough to do that then you deserve to die. I hope Ratchet likes cleaning Sam out of his fingers.”

Sam swallowed and then added in a more demanding tone to let his girlfriend know this was serious. “Please?”

Okay, whatever it was Sam thought it was secret worthy and there was only one good way to keep a secret. Spit and shake on it. Yah, it was tomboyish and immature, but right now she was a little too tired and aggravated to care about impressions. The girl suddenly spit on her hand and put it out towards Sam. The boy looked at it for a moment as if inspecting a contract and then quickly did the same; neither paying attention to ‘Bee’s questioning stare. “Okay, now I feel like I’m in grade school again … now tell me why I had to spit on myself and it better be good.”

Mikaela couldn’t help but stare at ‘Bee ten minutes later. Here was the future of the Autobots (the entire species of transformers for that matter) was hiding in plain sight and she didn’t want to be found. At first Mikaela had practically tried to wrestle the phone away from Sam so she could call Ratchet and tell him to get over here ASAP and get this transformer a dress … but then she stopped when she looked into ‘Bee’s scared optics. She suddenly understood the Camaro’s fears as if it was her own. What kind of life would ‘Bee have? True, the Autobot’s were overall good guys, but they weren’t stupid enough to just say, ‘ _You don’t have to have any sparklings ‘Bee. It’s okay if the race goes instinct. Really, we don’t mind_.’ They probably wouldn’t be proud of it, but they would force ‘Bee to be a mother. A mother of many beings apparently since there weren’t any more femmes. It was a situation that was to horrible to completely comprehended by a fellow female.

With a heavy sigh Mikaela hung up her cell phone as soon as a metallic voice rang over the speaker and looked down at the boy she had pinned to the floor. She had won her cell phone, but in the end she really didn’t need it. “Sam … I got a plan.”

XXX

 **“What the slang!”** Growled Ratchet as he closed the connection for the second time this morning.

 **“What’s wrong?”** Asked Hound tiredly as he threw another ton of dirt out of the hole.

The medic growled. **“Just some idiot trying to call me … probably a telemarketer.”**

 **“What’s a telemarketer?”** Asked Wheeljack in an excited tone.

 **“Oh believe me you’ll know soon enough. Oh yes, you’ll know.”** And somehow Ratchet resisted the urge to laugh evilly.

XXX

“WHAT! Why do I have to be the bait!?” Cried Sam as he jumped away from the two females, bot and human, acting like the two had just threatened to remove a kidney. “I want to live dammit. I’m young and good looking-wait! No ... but I’m young and a virgin.” Mikaela tried not to blush and ‘Bee tilted his head in question. “I want to LIVE; not end up in a specimen jar!”

  1. I doubt he’d put you in a specimen jar … he’d probably dissect you first and then put you in one of those display cases like they do for bugs.” She tried not to grin as she looked down at the horror filled expression on her boyfriend’s face.



Sam gaped at her in horror as the memory of his sixth grade dissection of a frog came back to mind … except instead of a frog it was him. The teenager swallowed the need to cry like a scared little girl and took the whining approach. “But I don’t wanna be a specimen.”  
  


The mechanic shook her head, but didn’t bother to look down at the lover turned third grader as she stuck her hand a little deeper into ‘Bee’s neck joint earning her a shiver of pain from the bot. “Sorry ‘Bee, don’t worry you’ll be out like a light before I touch it again.” The teenager took her hand out and looked at the metal shards and grimy lubricants that covered it. It was ghastly. She didn’t know if she had the skill to do this, but she’d try. She wouldn’t leave ‘Bee behind. She hadn’t abandoned him um, her, in mission city so she wasn’t going to do it now.

“Sam.” Whispered the female as she wiped the oil off her hands staining the fabric as black as her tone.

“Yah.” He stated with a pouty lip.

“Look at ‘Bee.”

Sam gave his girlfriend a questioning look and then slowly guided his eyes up to the transformer’s face. Why? He knew what Bumblebee looked like. Believe you me; one just doesn’t forget a sentinel robot overnight. After a moment of staring at the transformer in the dim lights of a garage Sam shrugged his shoulders. “Yah … so?”

“And what Sam?” Added the girl in a soft almost cold tone as if she was saddened by his response. “Sam! Pay attention and stop whining! We’re doing this for ‘Bee! He, I mean she, needs us. Are you just going to turn your back on your friend because you’re scared? Bee’d never do that to you … to any of us.”

It was cold … the very air was cold, because it was the truth. He was being a coward. The teenager swallowed his fear and allowed it to fester in his gut as he slowly drew his deep brown eyes to his lovers’ eyes and then his best friend’s blue optics. “Sor-sorry moment of weakness guys… but why Wheeljack! Can’t I have Ratchet?”

His girlfriend puffed her chest out as she jumped down from ‘Bee’s hand. She then proceeded to march up to her supposed boyfriend and got up into his face. He had just tried to sacrifice her! She wasn’t going to let this Wheeljack character get near her with a ten foot pole. There was no way she was going to consoling about getting molested by a twenty foot robot. “Well, Sam I’d hate be the bearer of bad news, but what do you know about engines ninja-turtle boy?” Sam tried to speak both to defend his PJ’s and his slight mechanical skills, but his girlfriend continued. “Not enough to keep Ratchet distracted for more then five seconds that’s what. That’s why I’m talking to Ratchet and leaving the mad scientist to you. I mean to distract Wheeljack you merely have to stand there and breathe if what you told me is true. Now quit whining and help me set up this garage for the repairs … tomorrow we’ll meet up with the rest of the Autobots, play our roles, ‘Bee will sneak behind their backs getting the parts, and we’ll all be happier.”

Sam snorted and called after his retreating girlfriend that sometimes he was sure was his enemy. “Oh, I can keep him distracted, but I can’t promise I’ll come out alive! Just think of it this way; you’ll always know where I am, because I’ll be in a jar … on your night stand! That is if you don’t trade me off for a better jar! Who’s the other jar Mikaela! Who’s the other jar!”

A snicker merely escaped ‘Bee’s speakers. “Oh shut up robot boy or when you wake up from the repairs you might just be pink.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mikaela’s character was a bit off … but then again they never gave her that much character depth in the movie anyway besides being a hottie and gutsy. Thanks to Windwalker for her opinion on vehicle modes. I took her ideas and researched a little and let me say this … I felt like I was car shopping and could have anything I wanted; that’s how into that I got. Man, I’m a dork. Any who, I will have other requests for vehicle modes when more characters come in … I might put up a poll too to see what Decepticons people want to show up.


	5. Lets Play Operation

 

 

When a young human child is growing up there is constant hand slapping to the back of their head. This is a disciplinary action generally carried out by the mother for many sociably unacceptable actions of the child’s doing. These actions can consist from sticking bubblegum in a sibling’s hair to accidentally putting the car into reverse while fighting with that same sibling and thus head slapping would be used because the mother could not reach the child properly to strangle him or her. Yet the slap to the back of the head can be used for many other disciplining actions as well, but the most popular has to be the desisting of staring … particularly at mutant freak babies and really fat people or in the case of Samuel Witwitcky … himself. He had been staring at the mirror all morning knowing it was going to be the last time he saw himself. He was going to die today and he wanted to properly say goodbye to his flesh before he was sacrificed to the hands of Wheeljack. Thus, Mikaela had to slap him in the back of the head to make him stop staring at himself.

 

“God, you’re worse than a girl Sam. Quit acting like you’re entering a beauty pageant or something and let’s go. Apparently Optimus and Ratchet spent all night exploring their options. In the end they decided on an abandoned airfield next to the mountains a few miles out of Tranquility. Maybe an hour and a half’s drive… if you’re in a normal car that is. Forty-five minuets tops for us.”

 

“Great … I have forty five minutes to live. Wonderful.”

 

…

 

“Okay that’s him.” Whispered Sam as three heads popped around the corner of the entrance to the partially established med bay. Bumblebee mentally thanked Primus that Red Alert hadn’t shown up yet or him sneaking in would have been impossible, even for a partially built med bay it would have been impossible. Sam’s body suddenly started twitching as a loud metallic twang of metallic feet filled the room and in enter none other then Wheeljack, mad scientist extraordinaire. Bee’s human looked up and gave him a pouty lip only to be slapped by Mikaela.

 

“Ow!” He hissed rubbing the back of his head.

 

The girl cleared her throat and punched her fist into her palm. “Okay men … um … I mean girls.” Sam raised a brow, but said nothing as he nervously watched the huge orange mech mix some chemicals together. He was so dead. “Anyway, like I was saying. Sam if anyone asks where ‘Bee is s-he’s talking to Ironhide about updating his weapons or something.”

 

Sam swallowed. “Time for the death walk?”

 

“Yes … I mean no! You’re not the only one taking a risk here Sam. I’ve never seen Ratchet angry, but I bet there is a reason Ironhide and the others call him Ratchet the Hatchet. Now suck it up and get out there.” The teenager was only allowed a screeched as his girlfriend shoved him into the room like a piece of live bait. The human automatically plopped his hands over his mouth and swallowed the rest of his shriek. Perhaps Wheeljack didn’t hear his girly scream. Suddenly, a shadow fell over the boy. Perhaps he had. Sam swallowed slowly dropping his hands from his mouth to look up at the figure that was throwing a shadow over him as he silently prayed that it was Optimus … or Megatron. Yah, Megatron would so be better then Wheeljack. Sadly, he was met by a gleam of orange

 

Sam swallowed as the huge orange mech stared down at him with curiosity. Wheeljack’s fingers were twitching as if he was about to explode on the spot with excitement. The human dug his feet into the metal tiles beneath his feet. He had to resist the urge of self-preservation after all. The human swallowed once more and a squeak escaped him. “Ummmm … h-hi.”. It came out more a choke. The human cleared his throat. “I mean hi. I’mmmmm Sam Wit-witwicky. It’s nice to meet you.”

 

“Likewise, I’m sure Sam Wit-witwicky.” Added Wheeljack as his ears seemed to brighten slightly. There was a moment of odd silence with Wheeljack just staring down at him like a hyena to a carcass. Sam shook his head trying to get the image of an orange hyena chasing him out of his mind. He coughed and ran his hand through his hair. He rose to his feet and swayed on them. Wheeljack continued to stare, his fingers still twitching. Sam swallowed as the hyena came to mind and started to whistle to distract his mind. The mech titled his head in question and leaned down on one knee to get a better look at what the human was doing. Sam resisted the self-continuation reflex once again and managed to keep still. At least he wasn’t as large as Optimus.

 

Wheeljack’s fingers slowly reached forward in a need to for full the need of his CPU. It had been clawing for knowledge since he had gotten there. Yes, the World Wide Web was quite adequate in fulfilling the questions of some of the Autobots, but he was a scientist and he’d never state it to a human personally but they were slightly lacking in some of their conclusions. The information he was able to access was … un-stimulating. To a human the science and the math were complete, but to him there was so much more left untouched and as a scientist he couldn’t let that be … and so he decided he had to study first hand; his first subject being a human being. At least that’s what his plan was until Ratchet threatened his ears if he touch another human without due cause. Sadly, if the boy wasn’t withering in pain or allowing him to do so, Wheeljack couldn’t touch him. Silently, he prayed the juvenile would pass out from a hernia. “May I ask why you are here? Is there someway I can be of service?”

 

Sam swallowed. “Um no, no I just … um, wanted to a … look … at …” the teenager hurriedly looked around at the room trying to find a good lie, “that machine!” He closed his eyes and pointed randomly to the left.

 

Wheeljack stood up and looked to his left at the partially constructed med bay wall. His optics shuddered closed once and then he returned his gaze back down at the human. “That is merely a wall made of the stone Samuel Wit-witwicky.” The mechanical being slowly leaned down and tried to pick up the human only to have the human squeal like a monkey and make a dive for a transformer sized bed with an four foot crawl space underneath. The mechanical hand stopped and Wheeljack leaned down so his optics lighted up the place Sam was hiding under like a scared little mouse on all fours. “Please cooperate. There seems to be some damaged to your logic center … the human brain I mean.”

 

“Um … um. How about later? My brain is … sore from ... all the learning I had to do at school lately.” Added Sam stupidly … thank god this Autobot hadn’t been around for the plant fiasco or he’d so be busted with how crappy he lied.

 

Wheeljack leaned down on one knee and a scan of light quickly danced over the human’s form. “Hmm, from what I’ve uncovered on the World Wide Web there is no known disease called ‘brain soreness’. There is brain swelling which can be deadly, yet there are so many other probabilities. Here let me pick you up so I can put you on the examining table.”

 

“Leave my head alone. There’s nothing wrong with it. I’m not volunteering for any of your dissections!” Hissed Sam as he crawled a little deeper under berth and resisted the urge to hiss like a trapped opossum.

 

A rev escaped the scientist. “But it was easy to tell from your current confusion with the wall that you must be hallucinating. Have you hit your head recently or eaten beef from out of the country? Please come out so I can properly diagnose if you’ve been damaged.”

 

Bumblebee resisted the urge to laugh as Sam hissed and leapt under the recharge berth like an angry cat. He peeked a little farther into the med bay scanning it silently now that he was sure the scientist’s attention was completely on his little human. Slowly, the transformer got on all fours and as silently as possible sneaked into the room, hiding behind the nearest medical shelf. ‘Bee slowly swung his head over the top and if he could have released a squeak he would have when he saw what was on the medicinal table. Saws, laser scalpels, varying lengths of wire, internal mechanics, and transformer sized needles that were big even compared to Bumblebee. The thought was enough to make the small transformer push away from the table … to bad the table had wheels. Bumblebee’s processors stopped as the wheeled table slid forwards and for a moment it seemed that nothing was going to happen and that Wheeljack would not even notice … until the table tipped over due to an incomplete tiling in the floor. To Bumblebee the crash was loud enough to wake the dead.

 

Sam had seen it coming from a mile away. It was a risk … but it had to be done. _For ‘Bee … anything for ‘Bee_. The little human crawled out just as Wheeljack started to turn his head to see what had caused the racket. The human swallowed and it came out like a war cry. “Oh, my spleen!”

 

The poor mech twitched slightly in surprise and turned back toward Sam before even taking a glance at the fallen medical table and the causer. His optics set on Sam and the human stood there a moment dumb struck before he re-grabbed his leg and cried. “My spleen,” before falling to the ground and whimpering as if he was in terrible pain.

 

The mech tilted his head in question. “Sam Wit-witwicky. I don’t believe that human organ is not located in the leg … correct?”

 

The human sat up from his protected ball of pretend pain and blinked once or twice. He had no idea where the spleen was. He suddenly grabbed at his lower abdomen and started to cry ‘my spleen’ only to be stopped by Wheeljack’s shaking head.

 

“Not there?” Whispered the teen.

 

“No.” Stated Wheeljack in a dry metallic tone. The human swallowed and then continued to play guess-where-my-spleen-is with Wheeljack whom had not even noticing the creeping mech behind him. Sam resisted the urge to sigh in relief as Bumblebee got back on two feet and slowly rose to a crouching position. He gave Sam a soft nod and the human gave one in return which promptly regained the attention of Wheeljack, but before the mech could turn his head to see what the human had nodded at Sam grabbed the side of his chest. “Oh my spleen. I’m dieing, dieing! … I-I see a bright light … Elvis is that you?”

 

The mech hastily picked up the trembling human and placed him softly on the berth he had been hiding under a moment ago. There was a soft buzz as Wheeljack started running medical scans over the human. Sam continued playing along, glad for all those lessons from ER.

 

‘Bee silently popped open one of the huge cabinets and started to silently scan over the pieces without cringing. There was a reason he was not a medic and the major reason for that was because he was … squeamish wouldn’t be the best word for it or perhaps it was more a phobia when it came to deep internal mechanics, because he knew if anyone saw his he’d never sleep alone in his berth again. The yellow mech ignored the thought and slowly went to the next cabinet … and the next … and the next … and the next. The Camaro wanted to scream in frustration. Where the Primus was it! If Ratchet didn’t even have the part why was he threatening ‘Bee with it? The Camaro wanted to snarl and was about to fall to the floor in a broken heap when a cry of ‘no, leave my pants alone’ came from behind him. The mech turned around ready to save his human when he nearly tripped on the medical table in front of him. ‘Bee’s optic brightened when he saw his new vocal processor lying neatly on the tray. It had been polished to perfecting and almost lovingly laid in a soft fabric. Of course all thoughts of Ratchet’s soft bedside manner dispersed when the mech caught sight of huge blades lying next to it. The yellow mech swallowed and picked up the small part, which was roughly the size of a carrying stereo, heavier though … oh, maybe fifty pounds give or take five.

 

The yellow mech let his engine rev with approval and then he started on his trek over to save Sam, but alas he never got that far. There was a crash and the mech slammed into something solid falling on his aft along with a collection of other parts. The mech rubbed his head only to wish he had never re-opened his optics when he realized what had just happened  … that hand was suppose to be holding his vocal processor! The mech scrambled desperately feeling the floor for his salvation not even noticing that Hound was watching him. The poor scout had been planning to help the poor Camaro after he had ran into him, scattering Ratchet’s parts everywhere, but now ‘Bee was acting like was on the glitch. Hound grabbed the vehicle by his shoulders and shook the other mech. “Bee! Bee! Why are you here? Did one of the metal shards come loose in your neck and now your CPU is malfunctioning? Are you in pain! Are you deactivating!” The green mech turned his head and there was a loud clank as Hound threw a spare part at the orange bot’s head whom still hadn’t noticed the commotion behind him.

 

“Ratchet! The human let me …” the mech murmured off into nothing when Bumblebee was suddenly thrust into his arms. His optics shuddered once or twice as the orange mech looked up at the panicking Hound. “What’s wrong?”

 

Hound growled. “Everyone knows ‘Bee wouldn’t get in a mile radius of a med bay unless there was something wrong with him. I bet it’s those metal shards in his throat. Do something!”

 

‘Bee shook his head furiously trying to state ‘no’ while simultaneously trying to claw his way out of Wheeljack’s arms who was feverishly trying to pin him to a medical berth. After a few grunts of ‘hold still’ Wheeljack yelled at Hound to help him so there was a commotion of knocking over tools, cruel curses, Bumblebee kicking Hound in the head, and some other un-namely things until a yell echoed over the room like a plunge had befallen the earth.

 

“That’s enough!” The ball of mechs slowly turned all their heads to see Ratchet standing there in the doorway, his optics narrows. He was about to growl when he noticed that ‘Bee was in the company of the crowd. The CMO’s optics dimmed and then he stated. “What happened? Why is Bumblebee here? Did one of the shards come loose?”

 

‘Bee’s engine revved in panic and he tried to claw his way off the booth, but Hound and Wheeljack managed easily to finally pin him down. Ratchet spared no time in popping open the Camaro’s neck armor while he simultaneously pulled down Wheeljack’s head for a better look. “And there was light.”

 

‘Bee’s armor squeaked as he struggled to free himself from the berth. He knew what was coming once he heard Ratchet growl. “It doesn’t look like there’s any more damage here, but I should look under the chassis just in case.” ‘Bee flinched as he felt Ratchet’s think fingers slide under his front armor gently prodding for the handle that would release the latches of his chassis. The yellow mech wiggled trying to keep the inventible at bay. He couldn’t let the medic open his chassis … they would all see … they would all see his dishonor … his horror … his disgust … his fear … their hope.

 

“Stop wiggling ‘Bee or I promise to make this painful.” Ratchet stated in a dry tone as his fingers searched beneath the abnormally tight plates that seemed as if they had been built specifically that way so no one could get an inch under his armor. Why the Primus was it designed that way and that latch was still to be found! It should have been located to the left slightly under the headlight like all usual mechs … it was as if this wasn’t Bumblebee’s original armor. Where could it – _snap_ – a grin formed on the medic’s face. He found it. It was a little deeper then the usual, but what caused him to smile was that little shocked look on ‘Bee’s face. What? Did he really think he was going to actually do the surgery with someone holding him down while kicking and screaming? Ratchet had been joking when he stated that he’d have Optimus hold him down. Besides, he couldn’t do a that type of repair in such a minger medical bay, but it was well off enough for him to get a good look at what he’d be working with. Ratchet wasn’t positive, but this was probably the first time he had ever been able to look under ‘Bee’s chassis. He’d probably check the spark chamber for stress levels while he was under there. It would probably offer an explanation to ‘Bee’s strange behavior lately and maybe even that strange phase he had had in the Witwitcky’s backyard. Slowly, he started to push up the armor and ‘Bee’s stress levels skyrocketed or so Ratchet’s sensors stated. Something was seriously wrong with Bumblebee. Why hadn’t he noticed earlier? Well, he wouldn’t let such signs go unnoted anymore. As a medic he was obligated -

 

“Noooooooooooooooooo!”

 

The three mechs all jumped and loosened their grips enough for the frightened little femme to jump off the table. Ratchet glared at ‘Bee as he escaped, stopping momentarily to run his hand protectively over his chassis. That was suspicious, but he’d investigate later. The medic slowly turned his attention back to the two mechs that had just let his patient escape only to choke on his own voice box to lost for words. Poor Mikaela, whom he had left a few halls back when he heard the struggling in the med bay, was standing at gunpoint by the two new arrivals. Her eyes were wide with fear like a deer in the headlights and she looked so ragged with her heavy breathing and the way her backpack was lying lazily on the floor, one arm grasping a strap. Basically, she looked absolutely frightened to death. A loud clang echoed over the room and Hound fell to the floor on his aft grasping his head in pain, while Wheeljack yipped and fell back against the berth grabbing his head as well.

 

“What the hell is wrong with you two? First Bumblebee and now Mikaela? She’s not an intruder so don’t even dare try to use that excuse on me.” The medic sighed and looked down at the human. Slowly, he kneeled down so he could pick up the frazzled human; at least she looked that way with her hair ruined and a thin stream of sweat running down her face. She must have run all the way here. The medic rested his open palm at her feet noting how heavy her backpack looked by the stress that was being put on the straps. He’d have to talk to her about the dangers of overly heavy backpacks after he had finished with ‘Bee. “Please get on my hand Mikaela so that I may put you in a safer location so that you are not in an area where you might get harmed. At the moment Bumblebee is being rather uncooperative and I don’t want a struggle to end in a massacre. Now please get on my hand. You two are to grab ‘Bee before he escapes.” Added the medic without even looking over his shoulder.

 

Hound and Wheeljack both turned from their self induced pain to look for Bumblebee whom was halfway out the door, peeking around the corner as if he was looking for something on the floor. The two bots scrambled around the booth and towards the yellow mech when they were stopped once again by a scream of ‘no’. The two mechs looked over their shoulders as they struggled to drag the other transformer back into the med bay. “What now?”

 

All four mechs looked back at the small female patiently waiting for an answer. Mikaela swallowed. “Ummm … well, Bumblebee’s not here to be rap-I mean for injures or anything … he’s, he’s, he’s … here to talk to Ironhide.”

 

“What about me?” Growled the bulky black mech himself as he heaved himself into the room with one struggling Bumblebee over his shoulder. The yellow mech slammed his fist again the other’s back once or twice before slumping like a whipped dog, throwing a glance over to the little human female for help.

 

Mikaela swallowed at the look. No pressure or anything. “Did I say Ironhide? Silly me.” The girl bopped herself on the head and laughed. “What I meant to say was Optimus. So yah … um, we must be going.” The female then proceeded to drag her backpack while she staggeringly made her way over to Ironhide. She glared up at the poor black mech and he took a step back. It was Will’s mate all over again!

 

The mech sighed. Ironhide didn’t need another female threatening to use him for … ugh … grocery shopping. When the other mechs had heard his horror story they merely stared at him in question. They didn’t understand what was horrible about it. Well, they’d never had one of those child safety chairs in them now did they? No they didn’t! It was like a cancerous little stump inside him that played ‘Under the Sea’ over and over again to drive his CPU over the edge. He would never enthrall the wrath of Lennox’s femme again! He doubted Mikaela would be any different … she’d probably put Mojo in the child chair instead of a child though since she and Sam hadn’t started mating yet. He glared at the human female for a moment before dropping Bumblebee like a bag of flour.

 

The yellow mech stood up slowly rubbing his aft. That hurt … but at least his aft was saved. Bumblebee rubbed his aft a little more, glared at everyone in the room and grabbed the female running out of the room before Ratchet had time to react. Primus! He hadn’t gotten the part! What was he supposed to do! He doubted he could properly describe it so Sam and Mikaela could retrieve it … and where was it for that matter? When he had finally managed to get out of Hound and Wheeljack’s grip he had scanned the room. He couldn’t find it anywhere! Oh Primus! Primus! PRIMUS! What … what was he going to do!

 

Bumblebee was so intent on his thoughts he almost dragged out his cannons when a sturdy hand grabbed him by the upper potion of his arm during his run for his life. “Woh Bumblebee.” Came a calm warm masculine voice. ‘Bee blinked once or twice and stared up at his leader whom had just stepped out of one of the adjoining corridors. His engine coughed in the equivalent of a child’s whimper as the father figure stepping in front of him as if knowing Bumblebee was extremely upset. The yellow mech quickly revved his engine to try a keep the depressed little sound from being noticed when a whimper escaped his engine again, but the larger mech had already heard it.

 

Optimus sighed and put a calming hand on the now whimpering mech’s shoulder. The hiccups coming from his engine where the equivalent of a sparkling’s sobbing minus the whining since he had not the ability at the moment. He hadn’t heard Bumblebee sob in a long time. It made him long for things that he knew were long gone. He smiled down at the smaller mech allowing his battle mask to slide to the side. “My friend I wish I could ask you what is the matter, but with your present malfunction it seems that is not to be. If I must listen to my CPU I’d say it has to do with the coming repairs.” Bumblebee’s shoulder’s sagged along with his door wings.

 

Optimus found more memories of a younger ‘Bee coming to mind. How he use to cling to the older mechs … how he’d hang on their every word … how he’d hide in the Ark’s engine room’s nooks and crannies when he was sobbing: to proud to let Ironhide know. It was a game sometimes for the older mechs to search out the youngling and coo him down from where ever he was hiding to properly comfort him. There were two ways to do this. One was Ironhide’s favorite: beating the crap out of whomever done it or two: wiping the energon tears away. Bumblebee never protested … especially when he couldn’t tell anyone why he was crying, not even Ironhide. It was like his young spark held a terrible secret and he couldn’t tell … no matter how badly he wanted too. 

 

Optimus found his thumbing moving like it had so many times before. He’d cup the youngling’s cheek and used his large thumb to rub against the cheek wiping a single tear away. He chuckled as the hiccupping little revs were silenced and the mech straightened up loosing his week moment as if it had fallen away in a breeze. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had the honor of cheering you up. Now don’t worry Bumblebee. Ratchet may seem a bit cruel, but the harder he is on a patient the more he cares. Now you best get out of here before Ratchet finds you and has Wheeljack and Hound hold you down.”

 

A ‘aww’ came from Mikaela and Optimus’s optics brightened for a moment when he suddenly realized that this whole time the human was smiling up at him and draped around Bumblebee’s ankle much like a … a … sparkling. Unlike Bumblebee the Matrix holder was able to keep his depressed revs silent. For some reason as he watched the two depart with silent nods of thanks in a slow calm pace, he knew that Bumblebee was upset about the same thing  … upset that they had no future. He had doomed them all the moment he told Sam to destroy the Allspark. A small hiccupping rev escaped him and the great leader found himself ducking into the nearest room. Leaders did not cry. He was tool old for such things.

 

Bumblebee’s engine revved in a soft depressed manner as the winds of the outdoors hit him as he left the partially built base behind. His engines sighed. ‘Bee couldn’t believe that he had just broke down in front of Optimus like that. It was one thing to be a femme … another to act like one. The Autobot allowed one more sigh before walking a few yards and collapsing into the swaying, three foot high yellow grasses that grew wild around the new base. He might have enjoyed the soft plant materially running softly against his armor as it danced in the wind, but he couldn’t right now. His CPU was weeping … he hadn’t been able to get the vocal processor. True, he could try again, but he doubted Mikaela would be able to save him again. The transformer ran and hand over his chest feeling is spark pulse … it was weeping. His spark had wanted to see the sunlight, to taste the air for the first time, to be in the company of another’s  … yet he had deigned it again. The yellow mech was still surprised the latch hadn’t been rusted shut and thanked his luck that he hadn’t completely gone limp. He sighed as a whimpering rev escaped him once again. This time though Mikaela stopped waiting at the entrance for Sam’s great escape to go comfort her fellow lady in arms.

 

Mikaela placed a gloved hand on the mech’s foot and blue optics were soon resting on her. She gave a soft smile. “What’s wrong ‘Bee? I’m no expert, but those revs I’m betting were the equivalent of sobbing.” The mech dragged his shoulder’s forward and leaned his face a little closer toward the human’s … he gave a curtly nod. “Whatever for?”

 

‘Bee could have screamed. Wasn’t it obvious what had happened? He hadn’t been able to obtain the vocal processor! He was going to have to leave earth, leave his Sam, and leave his home. The transformer wrapped his hand around his throat and shook his head. He then buried his head into his knees and sat there amongst the willowing grass. If he could have had a voice, if even for a moment, so he could sob properly.

 

“Oh well … you don’t have to sob about it.” Added Mikaela with a chuckle. ‘Bee glared at her and pulled his hands into fists practically boiling at the humans reaction to his burden … it was the soldier in him. “I mean I was a ‘car thief’,” she signed with her fingers noting Simmons voice in particular, “after all so it wasn’t much work ‘accidentally’ picking up a few spare parts.” The human threw her bag at ‘Bee’s feet with a grunt. ‘Bee’s anger soon boiled down to curiosity and he went to the careful job of opening the backpack. “After all interrogating Ratchet was all to easy. I just put on the dumb-human-seeking-unfathomable-knowledge-about-transformer-mechanics-act while simultaneously batting my eyelashes like a doe. Let’s just say he described you upcoming surgery down to where each lug nut goes, holographic picture show included.”

 

‘Bee’s nearly exploded with joy when he saw what was in the bag. “Yah I know … you just ooofff!”

 

The mech nearly jumped out of his armor when something suddenly jumped out of the long grass tackling the human female. Mikaela screeched and tried to push the horrendous beast off, but stopped when it started … sobbing? “Sam?” Stated the girl in a stupefied tone as she sat up in the tall grasses, barely noting ‘Bee’s shadow overcoming them as Sam sobbed into her shirt. The girl tried to ignore the fact that his face was placed perfectly between her two mountains or the fact, “Sam where are you’re pants!”

 

The teenager stopped watering her lavish rosebuds and looked up at her face with a tear stained cheeks mumbling, “He tried to anally probe me Mikaela. Probe me!”

 

XXX

 

It had taken forever to get back to Mikaela’s workshop. Not because they had run into the train or the fact that Mikaela had to take a rest stop, or that they stopped at Micky-dees for a short snack. It was because Sam wouldn’t choose a pair of pants. He kept trying on pants and asking if they looked like they could be easily removed so he could make sure they were Wheeljack proof. Finally, the female grew hysterical and yelled at he top of her lungs for the entire department store to hear ‘then get a chastity belt for your ass and lets go.’ Sam was not so picky after that and they were quickly on their way, but now that she was standing here Mikaela wished that they had spent more time searching for pants.

 

Mikaela’s fingers shook as she picked up the wrench that was located on a wheeled toolbox next to her. She eyed Bumblebee and she couldn’t help but swallow. The human quickly looked over towards Sam to look for comfort, but he was to busy talking to Bumblebee as the mech positioned himself against the wall. The girl took another calming breath as she silently watched the mech as he started to finger beneath his plating until a soft click filled the room. ‘Bee was getting ready … there was no running away now.

 

‘Bee’s processors were running overtime as his fingers shook beneath his armor. This–this was the first time he could ever remember opening his chassis. There was a throat clearing near his feet and ‘Bee glanced at Sam. The human gave him a weary smile as if he knew his thoughts and gave him a thumbs up. Bumblebee’s engine stalled when he pulled upward allowing his spark to taste the air, to see the world, and to show it’s beauty to another for the first time; out of instinct he closed his eyes awaiting the worst. Two gasps of awe filled the room along with a soft golden light accompanied with the clicking’s of mechanical workings of his deep inner workings. He had made the plunge. There was no going back now.

 

There was a clank at Mikaela’s feet as she dropped the ratchet she had been holding so she could throw her hands over her mouth, trying to hold in a gasp. Slowly, she found her feet dragging her forward to see where that godly light was coming from, but suddenly her breath hitched and she found herself unable to move forward towards that golden light as if its holiness was repelling her, repelling it’s reaper. Wh-what if she stopped that light with a simple slip of her hand? What if she killed ‘Bee?

 

The mech’s engine revved and both the mech and Sam turned their gazes to the ‘doctor’. She looked petrified and Sam couldn’t help but notice that she was on the verge of tears as the light from Bumblebee’s spark danced in ripples over her features in the dull light of the dusty garage. Sam patted the mech and smiled at him. “Just a minute ‘Bee… it looks like Dr. Mikaela needs a pep talk.”

 

The girl’s lip quivered slightly as she stared into Sam’s earth brown orbs when he came close enough to place a hand on her shoulder. “I … I can’t do it Sam. I can fix cars, but ‘Bee isn’t a car. I … cou-couldn’t live with myself if I hurt him.”

 

Sam shook his head as if what she had just said was a joke and wiped a lone tear of frustration from her eye with his thumb. She quickly looked away from his eyes unable to look him in the eye. She had promised Sam that she’d help them and yet when the time came to prove her worth she was to cowardly to do anything … she was ashamed of herself. The hot tears stung at her eyes threatening to bleed out her soul through her eyelids. Mikaela dug her fingers into her palm as she struggled to keep her tears from escaping into the light and into this workshop of horror.

 

“Mikaela. Stop. Please.” The teenager’s sneakers grinded into the grim on the garage floor as he took the final step forward hugging his girlfriend and burying his head into her hair smelling the soft musk that had settled in it from the oily fumes in the room. He whispered into her ear through her tree bark colored locks. “Bumblebee needs you … us.” The boy found his fingers tightly wrapped around her wrist as he started to lead her towards the awaiting mech. “I know you can do it … ‘Bee believes in you too or he would have never come here.”

 

A loud sniff escaped the girl as she stared at the table before her and the mech next to it. The tools glimmered softly in the light as if mocking her. “Bu-but I’m not a transformer's mechanic … what if I kill ‘Bee Sam? I-I couldn’t live with myself.”

 

Sam’s tongue caught. He knew that. Its presence had made itself know long before she had mentioned a thing. He tightened his grip on his cell phone. If one thing went wrong he was calling Ratchet down here ASAP! The human swallowed as his honor dripped down his throat in the need to uphold his promise to ‘Bee and his greed to keep his friend. The two ideals fought for dominance over his feet as well as his fingers as his sweaty palm grasped his cell phone tightly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paw07: They’s won’t get me, they’s wont … no! Put the flames out! Delete! Delete!! (starts drooling out of the side of mouth as rocks back and forth in a corner)
> 
>  
> 
> Optimus: Wh-what’s wrong with her Ratchet? Is she going to die? Cause I so get her PS2 game collection … and the slushy maker. It’s mine.
> 
>  
> 
> Ratchet: its Live Journal Post-Traumatic stress. These things happen from hotmail explosion of flames … I’m surprised all her hair isn’t singed off.
> 
>  
> 
> Optimus: Is there really such a thing as Live Journal Post-Traumatic stress?
> 
>  
> 
> Ratchet: In her head there is … of course she thinks Jackalopes are real too, but we won’t get into that. My logic center is still a bit fried from the Sailor Moon discussion. Ugh, I ju-just don’t get it? Why don’t they attack the Sailor Scouts while they’re transforming? They have like three minutes to just attack an unguarded female human that’s in a miniskirt!
> 
>  
> 
> Optimus: Why don’t they attack us when we’re transforming (long silence) Soooooo … will she be able to type the next chapter?
> 
>  
> 
> Ratchet: Maybe if we try this cattle prod. Zap-zap!
> 
>  
> 
> Paw07: (Yum, I taste like beef. Anyway, I’m going to ignore Live Journal as if it were the plague after all those flames I got, but at least that Optimus fluff cheered me up along with some ointment for the burn wounds. But don’t get me wrong, power to you hard-core Live Journal people. I know none of the people here were the ones who flamed me … at least I don’t hope so. (gives the eye) What? Can’t a girl whine every once in a while, especially when it was this story I put up?)


	6. Medical Bruises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kesera gets a thank you as well for the phrase 'brood mare.' Never heard of that phrase before …
> 
> Also: read 'Hounding Secret' after this to get a chapter joke. XD

It ached. It was as if someone had placed their palms on top of 'Bee's spark and invaded all her deepest most horrible secrets. Her insides churned at the thought; it was as if someone was running their hands over her spark chamber at this very moment, as if tasting it for flavor. Bumblebee rolled over only to increase her discomfort in her chest; it was as if there was a bump on her berth. … Wait! … She wasn't on a berth! She was on the cold gritty floor in Mikaela's garage. In fact, there wasn't a functioning berth on the entire planet … except … except … headquarters. The yellow transformer turned on her optics in a panic, throwing her gaze around the room looking for nightmares. Her pump stalled when he saw the bleach white walls and sterile clean metallic tiles … she wasn't in the garage. The camaro quickly gulped in cool air to calm her panicking systems. This was a bad. Slowly, her fingers inched out of the fists they had been held in; slowly she dragged one lone finger along the berth feeling its texture. It was real … she-she was in the medical bay. A whimper echoed over the room and 'Bee nearly choked on the sound. She had made a sound. That meant her vocal processor was fixed. That meant … that meant …

There was a scream of metal as Bumblebee panicked, sliding her aft along the metal of the berth in her hurry to get away from the edge of the berth. There was a crunching noise when her back met the wall that the berth headboard was located against. The camaro quickly ran her hands over her chassis trying to calm her pump, only to stop halfway through. She didn't want to look down … she knew what was there. Optimus and the others had seen _her_ … and they made the outside match. 'Bee's head trembled as she slowly looked down to see the human-like breasts on her chassis. They gleamed softly in the bright light of the medical bay as if stating that they weren't going anywhere, and were looking forward to the mech hands that would be caressing them every night, as if they were rose petals. They couldn't wait to be invaded and shared.

Bumblebee felt herself gag on the thought of someone cupping those metallic breasts and rubbing their palms against them. The little transformer threw her hands over his bosom, protecting them from invisible reaching hands. She then proceeded by pulling her knees up into her chest as a second barrier. The Cybertronian sat there a moment, feeling her pump thrash against her insides in an erratic pace, as old fears started to resurface to the top of her processor. She had to get out of here … she had to get rid of _them_. The femme placed both of her hands over the top of her breast once again, cupping them as her engine started to wheeze. She _had_ to get rid of them. Oh Primus, this-this wasn't happening. How the hell had she even gotten here? Wh-what happened at the garage?

The femme released her new additions and pressed her palms against the side of her head, trying to banish all thoughts by squeezing her metallic skull. Sam hadn't betrayed her … he would never betray her. The only thing that mattered now was getting off this planet before someone started touching her, forcing her into their berth, and into her spark chamber. The femme turned on her blue optics, and watched her hands shake for a few moments as images of dark rooms and arching sparks filled her mind. She had to get rid of these trademark disgusting parasites on her chest first! Running away into space was meaningless venture, since the first mech to see her would certainly not consider her personal opinion as he forced her into his berth, claiming it was for the good of the species. 'Bee's optics slowly flowed over the room. A saw on a medical tabled glinted in an inviting manner; the femme took no time in sliding off the berth and standing before it. Bumblebee's hands didn't even shake as she picked up the saw and the handheld blow torch that lay so lovingly next to it.

There was a soft scratching noise from outside of the medical bay, which made the femme jump and nearly drop her tools. Bumblebee held completely still for a moment before continuing. Ratchet never left his patients alone for long; she had to make fast work of this. The femme's soft footsteps echoed across the empty medical bay and she soon found herself seated on the edge of her berth again, back facing the doors. The camaro's hands shook for a moment in fear, but this had to be done. Slowly, she brought the saw to the top of her left breast and rested the cool metallic object there for a instant feeling its sharp edge scrap against her metallic plates, mocking them almost in what was to come. There was a small hum as her intakes took in as much cool air as they could. Luckily, the pain receptors were still numb from her newly replaced vocal processor and the new additions. Bumblebee's hands stopped shaking and then a scream of metal filled the room as the saw was slowly dragged back and forth, as if cutting through an ancient red wood. She would not be marked!

A soft dripping filled the medical bay. It was like a broken pipe slowly plummeting tears into a pool of water. The sound echoed softly over the medical and 'Bee watched with dim optics as another drop of energon ran down her leg, around her metallic calf, and all the way to her foot where it hung on the metal surface before falling with a small splash into the puddle below. The soft music stopped as the doors whooshed open. Two set of clobbering feet filled the room.

"Bumblebee?" Optimus's voice echoed over the room like a preacher giving last rights to a man before his execution. "You can't hide anymore. We need to talk."

A painful shudder escaped the yellow Cybertronian, which was still sitting with her back to the two intruders of her sorrow. Her _disgusting_ femme voice cracked like a flame dying in the wind as she spoke. "H-how the Primus did I get here?" Bee looked down at her hands, watching the energon slide over her palms and towards her wrists as her voice tremble in agony, but she was sure the others just thought it to be rage. "What the hell did you do to me?"

A frown drew itself readily on the CMO's facial plates. He took a step forward not even noting Optimus's glare for him to remain still. "I saved your life you rust heap! Why the hell would you let such an idea go through your processors! Mikaela almost killed you! There was energon everywhere! It was dripping everywhere!" Ratchet found his feet pounding as he stormed closer to the berth and it's occupant. "The two humans were covered in you mech fluid when I found you! They were trying so hard to keep you from bleeding to death, but humans are not strong creatures 'Bee. They don't have the physical strength to do much, if any, of the repairs you needed." The medic stopped a yard or two away from the berth, his shoulders heaving as he tried to contain his rage. He was so infuriated that one of his patients gutted themselves like that; in fact, he didn't even notice the metallic taste in the air. "If Sam hadn't called, I don't know what would have happened. You probably would have –"

There was a crunch of metal and a loud grunt filled the medical bay as the medic went down to the floor. Ratchet stared at the tiling on the floor for a moment as he leaned on his elbow, rubbing his jaw and trying to figure out where that nasty right hook had come from."What the slag was that for! What is your bosom to big, or now that you're a femme you've suddenly caught PMS! I was doing it for your own good."

Bumblebee overrode her systems as they tried to go into stasis once again, her body overshadowing Ratchet's form on the floor. "Don't you dare say that about Sam!" Bumblebee's vocal processors cracked like she had just racked her giant fingers across a plain of glass. "He promised not to tell! He p-promised! And I'm not a femme! I-I-I … don't want to be a femme." Bumblebee felt her engine screech, as it struggled to keep energon pumping to the systems. The camaro stumbled as half of the systems in her legs shut down; she grabbed the berth for support.

Ratchet finally saw it, as her two feet stumbled backwards with a splash … energon was running down her legs. The medic was hurriedly pulled to his feet before he could compute. His optics filled with utter terror as he looked up at Optimus, whom had the same expression as his face was bathed in a soft golden light that was quickly fading. Bumblebee had ripped into herself. The plates that usual covered her chassis had been sawed through raggedly; live wires tumbled out of her open chassis withering as the electric currents trembled, trying to find a way to complete its circuit; energon lines spurted oil and energon down her innards and armor; moving gears screamed and crunched against each other as they struggled to operate without need parts and lubricant; and the pump shivered violently against the spark casing, which was showing completely to the air. She-she had gutted herself.

"B-Bumblebee what have you done?" whispered the medic as he watch the energon drip down her chest, following the lines and dents in her armor, sliding over the slim armor of her waist and finally dripping down into a cold puddle off her legs.

"I-I just wanted to get r-rid of those p-parasites on my chest." Bumblebee's vocal systems struggled to keep on-line. "B-b-b-ut I realized, now that you've seen this … thing-g." 'Bee motioned towards her flickering spark; its golden light seemed to be fading. "I-I-I would be nothing-g-g-g but the specie's _bitch_ to-to every mech-mech that would see me. Ther-there is no more running away."

The little mech's shaking hand reached forward for an object on the energon soaked berth. She easily ignored Optimus's rising voice when he realized what she was about to do as he fingers enclosed on the small object … a laser scalpel. Bumblebee's optics traced over it in an almost loving manner. It wasn't a scalpel to her … it was retribution. She heard someone's feet slide against the metallic tiling as they reached toward her. Bumblebee took one last parting glance at her commander, a father if he had to be given a definition, and then plunged the scalpel into her exposed spark.

Bumblebee did not leave them with a parting sorry or even a whisper to be held as her form crashed into the berth behind her. She left them with a scream so that they would always remember. She would not be a brood mare … she'd rather be dead then that.

Sam jumped as a horrible screeching noise filled the garage. Mikaela fell backwards off her roost on Bumblebee's arm. Was this supposed to happen? She had just gotten the vocal processor in. Was it supposed to react this way or … or?

Sam's internal soldier started to react as 'Bee's scream was quickly accompanied by metallic clang of metal on concrete … Bumblebee had started thrashing, as if he was being chocked. The human found himself jumping over one of the yellow mech's whipping legs, tackling the girl as 'Bee's arm slid in her direction. There was a loud crash as the mech's arm slammed into the concrete wall where Mikaela had been cowering just a few moments ago. The two humans took no time in finding an opportunity to start crawling away from the chaos. What the hell was going on?

Witwicky could feel his girlfriend trembling against him as they stumbled towards the floor pit, which was usually used for lifted engines. He didn't even check to see how deep it was as he jumped in, girlfriend still under his arm. A grunt and then a yelp of pained filled the small pit, as the two of them hit the concrete floor below. A pain enveloped his arm, but he just ignored the agony in his limb and pulled himself into one of the corners of the pit, dragging Mikaela with him.

They sat there a moment panting, limbs entangled. Sam could feel his girlfriend's breath rattling against his neck as she buried her head within the tassels of his hair, thankfully, on the opposite side of his aching arm. "W-what happened? I did everything right … everything. Sam, what have we done?"

XXX

Ironhide was leaning back. Much in the fashion that Will would when watching a football game: feet in the air and eye's lazily watching the strange little bulky humans tackle each over a piece of pig flesh. Ironhide had found it amusing. Why in the world were they fighting over a round piece of pig hide anyway? Were they planning on eating it or was it just to show male supremacy? Now don't get him wrong, Ironhide was a keeper of cane and an all-for-it type of mech when it came to 'friendly' violence. Wait, erase that … all violence. But Football, Soccer, or whatever its proper name was, still confused him. Why did the capturer not just keep running when he obtained the object instead of just stopping at the posts? It was a game of search and capture right?

The black mech readjusted his huge feet on the console, and quickly looked over his shoulder to make sure that no one was watching. Neither Optimus nor Ratchet liked his feet on the newly constructed monitoring consul … something about slimy feet and bubblegum. The Weapon Specialist wasn't really paying attention when they were talking. He'd give the humans credit when it came to designing chairs … they knew comfort. The mech had to remind himself, after his shift, to thank Wheeljack for steeling the schematics from Lazyboy and making a Cybertronian sized control chair from them. Now monitoring duty wasn't as boring as usual.

The black mech let his engine rev in pleasure and laced his fingers behind his head. Slowly, he leaned back a little more in the chair, listening softly to the giant springs hum in stress … twenty-two more degrees and he'd fall over, chair and all. That wasn't going to happen though. He had perfect balance at the moment, and there were no surprises lurking about, because Wheeljack hadn't been given permission to build his lab yet, so there would be no explosions; Ratchet was busy preparing for Bumblebee's upcoming surgery, and was as good as dead to the world; Hound was out watching nature, which probably meant he was probably stuck in the mud somewhere and wasn't going anywhere till morning when someone decided to dig him out; Optimus was depressed and wouldn't come out of his quarters, even though he kept telling Ironhide he wasn't depressed; and Bumblebee was … were was Bumblebee?

The huge mech let out a sigh. Okay, maybe he was the only one who was "okay" at the present moment. Everyone else was busy moping about one thing or another. Especially Ratchet, the medic kept griping about having to rebuild something from scratch, but that was the least of Ironhide's worries. Prime was upset; his movements weren't as limber as usual. In fact, his body seemed tired and old, more Ironhide's forte then Primes, but the biggest clue had to be the flickering of his blue optics. They seemed to flash, as if in pain, whenever he looked another mech in the optic. Ironhide knew what it was about. Optimus always did put to much weight on his shoulders; there was a question echoing in his CPU every time he looked one of them in the optics: _Had he made the right decision in destroying the Allspark?_ Well, Ironhide would be lying if the thought didn't depress him, but if there was one thing he knew … nothing lasts forever. His old processors could tell him that much. If they were going to go extinct there was no point in moping about it now was there? Perhaps, he should ask Will to get a Cybertronian sized pig hide to throw around with his commander. It made humans awful happy. Maybe a "friendly" extremely violent game of soccer-football, between the six of them, would cheer Prime up.

The mech nodded his head. "Yah, we'll toss aroun' a dead pigs skin. I wonder why they use pig skin instead of dog skin? Dogs are faster creatures … except Sam Witwicky's rodent. Yes, perhaps he'd make a nice ball."

"Yah know you shouldn't talk to yourself. Ratchet might disengage your cannons thinking you've crash't your CPU and are ill of mind."

Ironhide leaned his head back a little more to see who was entering his domain … to bad it slipped his processors that he only had twenty-two more degrees left till his balance would be lost. A loud 'oomph' filled the room and Hound cringed at the Weapons Specialist cursed. There was a chafing of metal as the older 'bot pulled himself to his feet, pretending to wipe off some imaginary dust in order to keep a little bit of his dignity.

"What do you want?" Ironhide growled trying to keep a little supremacy over the other after that fall. Luckily, it wasn't the twins. He'd never hear the end of it. "I thought you were still hopelessly buried in the mud somewhere."

The green mech's shoulders wavered as if he was a child that had just been scolded. He had been so careful. He had even gone to a carwash before he came to the base. Hound really didn't need any more "stuck in the mud" jokes coming his way. "You knew I was buried in the mud, bu-but I didn't even call for help this time."

Ironhide looked at him. Was he serious? It was the more obvious then the fact that Will was male that Hound's absents, all afternoon, was because he was stuck in the mud somewhere. Probably, the mountains. Yet, after Wheeljack started to get into the gender aspect of humans, Ironhide wasn't so sure that Will was male anymore … so Hound might have been stuck in the river instead of the mountains. Eh … same thing. "Of course I knew you were stuck in the mud somewhere. I've had to dig you out three times already this week after Ratchet threatened to kill you once he unearthed you for fourth time. Really, how does one get stuck in the mud up to their hood?" Hound merely ground his foot into the tiling, embarrassed, as Ironhide continued in his rant. "I don't know why you're so obsessed with all this organic nature? It's just dirt and the molds that grow in it. You're worse than Wheeljack and his human specimen obsession." grunted the Weapons Specialist, who stalled in his tracks as the thought of Wheeljack crossed his mind. "Oh, remind me never to bring Will to base will yah? I don't need Will traumatized like poor 'Bee's human."

Hound let his engine rev in distaste at the last comment, and grabbed Ironhide's control chair. He then proceeded to lifted it upright so that the fabric gleamed in the stale light of the computer consul. "Well, at least I have better things to do then shine my weapons all day."

Ironhide growled as he watched the green mech steal his chair by sitting down in it. That was his fluffy little seat of paradise!

Of course, Hound didn't notice the Topkick's growl as he leaned a little closer in towards the screen, the light glinting off his optics. "Hey … how long has this been beeping?"

Ironhide quickly glanced at the screen, forgetting their squabbling. Slowly, both mechs leaned in closer towards the gigantic screen as if they were both in need of glasses. Hound glanced over at Ironhide and the other mech just stared at him with a 'you have the chair so you do the work' kind of glance, so the tracker started typing. The beeping stopped as words started to scroll over the screen. The blank expressions that had been on the mechs metallic faces slowly started to melt into expressions of surprise, oops, hell no, and finally into the 'I don't wanna die' facial expression.

Hound threw his head around madly towards the doors, as if looking for someone to jump out the shadows and bring forth punishment at that very moment. After biting his knuckles, Hound then preceded in his silent panic attack by jumping out of the chair, slamming the control room door shut, running around Ironhide whom was still staring at the screen, and then back to his seat. The mech's engine whined. "Deactivation is upon us."

Ironhide slowly stepped away from the consul, just staring at Hound in a questioning manner … mud must have gotten into his CPU. "Uh … let's pretend that we did notice it two days ago."

Hound's engine grunted and he buried his head in his hands, leaning forward in _his_ chair. "Generally, I'd let yah' suffer after mocking my 'nature' obsession, but I didn't notice it either when I was on duty yesterday."

Ironhide huffed and pulled away a little more from the other mech so that the computer light barely reveled him crossing his arms over his chest. "And how did you not notice?"

"It was the chair." Added the green mech as a glassy look over came his optics while his hands simultaneously ran over the fabric of the chair arm in a loving manner.

"… … you're forgiven." Added Ironhide as he resisted the urge to push Hound out the chair and take it as his own. "Let's go tell Prime, but let's leave out the chair detail. Knowing him he'll take it for himself."

"It's my precious." Added the green mech as he gripped the chair's arms in a possessive way.

XXX

Optimus sat behind his desk in his newly constructed office, his head gracing the table's surface lazily as he rolled a Cybertronian sized pen with one finger back and forth in an endless motion. He'd been in a downward spiral for a while now and had been pretty good at keeping it hidden, but seeing 'Bee the other day had just snapped the barricade he had so gracious put up to protect his men. Now here he was feeling the weight of the world drip into his spark, crowding it out of its own casing. Why hadn't he destroyed the Allspark then and there when he told Sam to slam it into his chest? He should have grabbed it and been done with it, slamming it into his own spark. It was fairly obvious that even if he had won the battle, the war would never be over until the Allspark was destroyed. He should have been the one to take it to Primus, not Megatron. Was it weak of him to want that? Was it weak of him to wish that deactivation had found him instead of being forced to stay in this fruitless future? It was like they were already dead. Sam didn't bring about their species end … he had. He wasn't a strong enough leader.

A soft knock on his door made the leader stop rolling the pen, his engine caught so that he was absolutely quiet. It was a childish thing to act like he wasn't there, but he just couldn't look any of his men in the optic right now. He was just too ashamed.

"Come on Prime. You're acting like a sparkling."

It was Ironhide. Optimus stared at the door for a moment and the darkness that seemed to make it completely invisible, except the small tresses of light that sneaked through the seams. The mech watched the shadow on the other side shift once or twice in irritation.

"Prime, like I said, I know you're in there. You're too big to hide anywhere else since the rest of the base is too incomplete to be much of a retreat. Besides, the doors' locked and I heard you rolling around that stupid pencil thing earlier. I still don't get Sam's joke about a computer usin' a pencil." Ironhide leaned against the door and revved his engine in a tempered manner. The older mech looked down the hall to see if Hound had finally dragged the other two out of their depressed recesses. Nope, it was just him and Prime. The mech's voice lost it usual grating effect as he spoke … he hadn't spoken this softly in a long time. Not since Bumblebee started to pull away from him. The Weapon Specialist still thought the kid was too young to be on his own, but 'Bee needed his space for some reason; Ironhide never questioned it. "It had to be done Prime. So stop balmin' yourself. You were right in your choice. If the Allspark had survived we still would have gone extinct the way we've been killing each other off. Stop and think Optimus … would you like our species to die in war or a silent, peaceful retreat?"

There was the grating noise of metal running against metal as Optimus's chair was pushed back. Heavy steps echoed within the room and then they stopped. Ironhide didn't move from his perch on the door. Optimus was thinking. If he opened the door that meant that he had accepted the truth. There was soft thud … Prime had probably put his head against the door. Sometimes it amazed Ironhide how he instinctively knew what Prime was doing. Probably because he had known him for so long now that it was as if he had raised Prime as well and Bumblebee. A soft rev escaped the other side of the door and the Weapons Specialist moved away just the door slid open.

Optimus stood there a moment, just staring at the floor. A heavy silence hung in the air before he chose to speak. "Perhaps you our right Ironhide … it's just that I can't imagine it. That there will never be another sparkling."

Ironhide cocked his head to the side giving Prime a questioned look. "Well, who the Primus said there'd be no more sparklings? Who knows? Maybe one of the new arrivals might be a femme … and if they're not, we'll send um' back up there till they find one."

Optimus's stature straightened as he looked at the other mech with a flavor of curiosity, his optic brightening. "We have arrivals? When will they be landing?"

Ironhide rubbed the back of his neck, silently cursing Hound for winning in that silly rock-paper-scissors game. The looser, thus, had to tell Prime about not noticing the new arrival's signal sooner. "About that Prime… they're landing now in about thirty human earth minutes."

…

There were heavy footsteps echoing down the halls as all the mechs hightailed it to the control room where Hound was still sitting, tracing his fingers in a dazed manner over the chair's arm. Unlike Ironhide, he wasn't in the mood to walk so he just com-linked Wheeljack and Ratchet while he basked in the sweet comfort of 'the chair'. His beautiful and oh-so-loving chair. Oh how he –

"Get off your lazy aft Hound!"

The mech squeaked as his paradise was invaded. He quickly stood up, chair squeaking, and glanced over expecting to see Ironhide … but it was merely Ratchet and Wheeljack. Why was Ratchet such a crank anyway? He had got his precious medical bay before anyone else had even gotten their rooms, which were little more than a berth and four walls at the moment. Yet Ratchet was still a crank? "Ratchet … what's wrong?"

A growl was quickly thrown at the green mech. Hound found himself with his back against the consul praying to Primus that rabies couldn't be contracted to Cybertronians. Sometimes he swore he could see foam lolling out of the side of Ratchet's mouth with the way he was cranky most of the time.

"Nothing, just some trouble in the medical bay." Hissed the medic as he crossed his arms and walked past Hound over to the consul, where his fingers started to dance like a light show because the light from the computer screen was glinting off his paintjob.

Hound made a slow retreat over towards Wheeljack, whose hands were twitching slightly. The hummer's engine sighed … Wheeljack was excited. This was the first time since the scientist had gotten to the planet that he was being allowed off base. There was no doubt in Hound's CPU that Wheeljack would 'accidently' find a specimen once he got out. Maybe Ironhide and him should have just ignored the signal. At least that way he knew that today wouldn't be like watching a child in a candy store; after all, Wheeljack had over six billion flavors to finger and traumatize. What had he done to deserve this? What!

"Forward and center men." The voice of Optimus Prime placed itself smoothly into the thoughts of all his soldiers as he entered the control room. Quickly, all his men turned to greet him with sympathizing smiles on their faces, except Wheeljack for obvious reasons. Prime knew that they had all been worrying about him on some degree. After all, once Bumblebee had left a day and a half ago, he had locked himself in his office … if you could call four walls, a chair, and a desk an office. It was a common practice of Primes to lock himself in his office after they lost a large battle … or after all the femmes had all been genocide. So it was no surprise that his men knew he was upset.

Prime drug himself out of his thoughts; he was slightly worried that he might start to fall back into his earlier depression and quickly looked around the darkened room for a distraction. It was barren … except for the chair that seemed overly lavished when compared to the rest of the base. Why wasn't his office chair that nice? It was then that he noticed. "Where's Bumblebee?"

The four other mechs looked at each other for a while until everyone was staring at Hound. He had played secretary earlier so he should know. Hound sighed. "Sorry Prime. Bumblebee never responded to the com-link, but there hasn't been any distress calls so I don't think he's injured or in grief of any type."

Optimus tightened his shoulders and stood a little taller to show his distaste about the current predicament. He _knew_ he should have made Bumblebee stay at the base.

A chuckle escaped Ironhide as he leaned against one of the dull walls, but he quickly covered it up with a rev-coughing action as the optics of both Ratchet and Optimus bore into him like that of a vulture, ready to eat his innards.

Optimus shifted a little to his left to incorporate his steely gaze a little more into the black mech, which had just entered the room behind him. "May I ask what is so comical? This is hardly the time for jokes Ironhide. Bumblebee is missing and we're also a little cut in for time when it comes to meeting the new recruits."

 _Well, Prime is still cranky … must have caught it from Ratch' over there_. "Nothing Prime," added Ironhide as he hid a smirk, "just thinking that 'Bee is probably half way to Cybertron by now." Optimus continued to stare, stating he needed more of an answer then that, so Ironhide continued in a matter-o-factly-tone. "We all know he's probably hiding low somewhere, hoping Ratchet will just forget tha' he's in need of major repairs. We're going to have to go on a search and bring-back-kicking-and-screaming mission for him later."

A sigh escaped Optimus as his large feet repositioned themselves so that he faced the team's medic. "I apologize ahead of time Ratchet, but it seems it will be just the five of us greeting these new arrivals. Speaking of which, Ratchet can you tell us what you've uncovered from the signal? You are the closest to the consul."

Ratchet was this close to throwing a tool at Prime's head. What did he mean finding Bumblebee was _not_ a top priority? Perhaps, Bumblebee wasn't answering the com-link because he was unable too! Or maybe one of the shards came loose and 'Bee had went into stasis lock. The medic crossed his arms; a frown planted itself firmly on his metallic face before he turned around and started typing commands on the consul. "From what I can tell the signal is coming from a group of Autobots; judging by the coding they've been trying to contact us for two days."

"Must have been interrupted by atmospheric pressures." added both Ironhide and Hound in unison like rabid chipmunks before anyone else could get a word in edgewise. The two mechs stopped and looked at each other curiously … and here they thought they never thought alike.

Ratchet stared at them for a moment with a suspicious gleam in his optic. "That is unlikely, but the least of our issues." The medic glanced back over towards his leader. "It seems there are three of them, by the way Prime. Unfortunately," Ratchet threw a glare at Hound, "the rest of the information has been lost. Apparently that part of the message came earlier so we'll just have to wait and see who is arriving."

Optimus nodded and removed his hand from his hip, ready to leave the room when a rev of complaint escaped Ratchet, whom wasn't finished talking quite yet. "Optimus, I must disagree with a certain aspect of your order… someone should go and look for Bumblebee. He might be having difficulties with his injury."

The Autobot leader stood still for a moment observing the medic. Optimus's optics went dim for a moment as he rethought the situation. Truthfully, he had been hanging on Ironhide's idea that a femme was in the group, but still it was probably best that he divided his men. The Autobot looked around the group, observing the reactions from each of the mechs as his optics washed over them like the morning sun. He didn't like that happy gleam in neither Wheeljack's eye nor the strange look that Hound kept throwing Ironhide … and the chair. "I believe Ratchet is correct. We should divide our numbers."

"Hound you are to stay on base." The order came quickly and a small 'yes' followed. Optimus rolled his optics. "You are not to sit in that chair. It seems to be a distraction for you." Hound whimpered, but the leader continued in his bolstering tone, "Ironhide, Ratchet, both of you are to come with me."

Ratchet's victory was short lived and he couldn't help but interrupt his commander. "What about Bumblebee Optimus!"

Stillness fell over the control room as everyone's optics fell on Ratchet. No one interrupted Prime when he was giving commands … no one. Optimus shifted on his heels and crossed his arms over his chest, puffing out slightly to show a sense of superiority. "Ratchet, do not undermined my authority."

The CMO's earlier glare faded away to a quick glance at the floor as a sense of shame fell into his joints. Optimus would never fail them; he was the leader for a reason. "My apologies Optimus, the healer in me got ahead of my CPU."

The blue mech slowly nodded his head, and allowed the silence to hang in the air a moment more before he spoke. "Ratchet, Ironhide you will be coming with me. Wheeljack will check up on Bumblebee. If there is anything wrong he is more than capable of -"

A 'yes' filled the room and Wheeljack's ears brightened with excitement, blinding everyone in the room. Hissing quickly followed as half the mech's rubbed their optics trying to regain sight. Wheeljack revved his engine and quickly stopped twitching his hands in anticipation, silently glad that his ears had blinded everyone from seeing his happy dance. He was going to be able to observe his specimen in its natural environment! Today was a good day … unless Bumblebee was bleeding into deactivation, then he'd have to wait with his Sam project. "Sorry Optimus," added Wheeljack quickly, once Optimus was able to glare at him, "I'm just happy about getting out of the base. I'm getting 'cabin fever' … Yes; I believe that's what the humans refer to it as."

Optimus resisted the urge to groan and pinch the bridge of his nose. He could see it now, spiraling all over the World Wide Web, ' _Giant orange car suddenly blows up half of the city trying to understand the concept of pizza and then went about removing human's cloths. Thousands of children traumatized._ ' Prime groaned despite himself. Why couldn't they have gotten Red Alert or … or Cliffjumper. Primus, he'd rather have the Twin's right now then an unsupervised Wheeljack terrorizing the streets. Like he had a choice; the likeability of a Cybertronian being injured when coming into the atmosphere was too great, especially if they already had some preexisting wounds. So he needed his best medic with him at the moment, not that Wheeljack wasn't good. It was just this paranoia in the back of Optimus's processors: how was it that Wheeljack never managed to blow anyone up after repairing them? Yet, two thirds of his experiment exploded at least twice before resembling, even a shred, of what they were supposed to be. Prime always had this harboring fear that one day he'd just be walking down the halls of the Ark, meet some Cybertronian coming out of the med bay, and bam … oil and internal mechanics everywhere. Then, Wheeljack would just stride out of the medical bay, look at the corpse on the floor for a moment, sling it over his shoulder and say something like: _'Oh there goes another one … must have miscalculated the pressure on his pump. Guess I'll have to learn how to bring mechs back from the dead. This will be a fascinating venture… oh, can I have the piece of spark casing off your face?_ ' For the most part, this delusion developed shortly after arriving to earth and learning of something called zombies.

Ironhide and Ratchet stood before Optimus waving their hands in his line of sight, which had been where Wheeljack had been standing a minute ago, before he raced down the hall with a stride in his step and off to look for Bumblebee. Yet, both Ratchet and Ironhide knew that was probably the last thing he was going to look for. Ironhide waved his hands in front of Optimus's optics once more before throwing his gaze over to rescue vehicle, which seemed ready to throw Optimus over his shoulder and drag him into the medic bay. "What's wrong with him Ratch'?"

Ratchet stared at their commander for a moment. "Generally, in a situation like this, I'd sling him over my shoulder and drag him into the med bay." Ironhide huffed at the thought … as if Ratchet could carry Optimus. "For your information, medic's have the ability to carry large weights. We have reinforced joints unlike someone I know." Ironhide merely revved his engine in disgust. "But I don't think that will be necessary. It was too quick of a reaction to be virus, and if there was something wrong with his CPU his optics would have went black … so it's probably the mech-zombie phobia he recently developed."

Ironhide shifted and leaned against the control panel with the palm of his hand. This promised to be good, and he wanted a support when he broke down into hysterical laughter. Optimus wasn't the type for stupid phobias … that was Red Alerts specialty. "Well, I was downloading some new anti-virus programs to Optimus the other day when Wheeljack walked into the med lab. He then proceeded by asking me if I needed some help. Well, I then got some unconscious feedback from Optimus … it was … odd."

"You mean hilarious?" smirked Ironhide as he tried not to start laughing now. Ratchet wasn't the type who laughed at jokes easily; all those years with the twins had whooped the fun right out of his processor. Maybe he'd get some more fun in him now that they were gone.

Despite his labored resistance, a smile still crept on Ratchet's face. "Yes … but don't tell Prime that. It took more self control then you know not to laugh when Prime left the medical bay."Ratchet cleared his throat with soft rev. "Apparently while scrimmaging though the World Wide Web Optimus came across a very curios concept: zombies."

"Zombies?" Hound's head suddenly came into the medic's view as he leaning back in the chair. His optics sparkled with wonder. There were just so many wondrous things about Earth.

Ratchet ignored the fact that Hound was back in the chair. Perhaps, it was because Hound knew that this was going to be a very entertaining story and didn't want to fall to the floor when he started laughing. "Yes, apparently it's some sick delusion in a human's mind, that if they were able to bring a human back from the dead, that that revived human would be little more than a mindless corpse, which feeds off the flesh of the living." Ironhide and Hound were no longer smiling. In fact, they looked disgusted. What? Ratchet had found it hilarious. "These zombies would then go about eating people by ripping their innards apart, usually the brains, and thus, the bite wounds would turn that person's dead corpse into a zombie as well. Everyone usually dies in these types of stories. So, somehow, Optimus's processors connected the insane human scientists, that created the zombies, back to Wheeljack. His processor then continued to run ramped with the idea that Wheeljack would make mech-zombies that devour every Cybertronian in the universe. That's the short version at least. Did I mention there was a lot of mech fluid in there too?" added Ratchet in a mocking tone as he looked at the other two's expressions, "I didn't know Prime could be so repugnant, but apparently years of war made it easy for his processors to envision hoards of dead mechs eating the internals of other mechs." Ratchet was then silent waiting for the others' impute.

Hound swallowed. "You could have at least tried to make it funny Ratchet. You do realize I might one day become deactivate from a simple leakage wound in fear of Wheeljack, right?"

"And you do now realize that I might start rummaging through Wheeljack's lab looking for partially complete zombies, right?" added Ironhide in a bitter tone. Well, this could be funny … if he told Red Alert. Usually, he wasn't the prankster type, but Earth was just too calm and his cannons were itching for some excitement; even if that excitement was nymph-ish. "Okay, traumatizing everyone is over, what do you purpose on fixing this?"

"Hound … you want to make a Megatron hologram?" stated Ratchet as he ducked under the control panel for cover.

XXX

There was a spray of gravel, in all general directions, as the semi came to a thunderous stop on the back roads about forty minutes from base … Cybertronian speeding time mind you. Another rush of gravel followed soon after, throwing up a dust cloud that dragged heavily in the night air, making the red and blue's semi's headlights momentarily useless. The dust didn't even have time to settle as a Topkick hammered itself down the thin road lined with weeds as well; it slid to a stop in front of a the semi, almost in a guarding manner, and then the vehicles just sat there in their cloud of dust, as if waiting for something.

The silence that had fallen, because of the entrance of the vehicles, lasted for as long as the crickets has wanted it too; and then a long bug on a willowing blade of grass restarted the song that the metallic intruders had decided to interrupt with their deafening solo of car tires. Soon, there were no other sounds except the crickets and June bugs whispering in the wind … Optimus found it soothing. It was so calming in the way the bugs sang to one another in the darkness.

The Topkick turned his tires, ruffling up the gravel beneath his tires. "This was the place right Ratch'?"

The rescue vehicle was silent for a moment as if double checking his earlier research. "This should be it despite our slight … delay." Optimus made no attempt to counter him. "In fact, they should have been here already."

The crickets took center stage, once again, over the Cybertronian voices as the mechs dwelled on the predicament. "So tha's it? That can't be it? Did you pick up any Decepticon signatures in the area? They might have been intercepted before impact."

"I doubt that." counter Ratchet as he revved his engine, trying and get rid of the grasshoppers that had just taken up roost on his hood. Yet, the grasshoppers just continued to sit. In fact, four more joined in the roosting of Racket's hood. The CMO sighed … Earth had its charms, but at the same time he wanted to squish everything on it. "Besides, there's only one, two if you count the unaccounted for Scorponok, and he is presently in Mission City … doing something I doubt he's supposed to be." barked Ratchet, feeling his distaste for Barricade roll over his engine like a stream of hot air.

Optimus finally stopped listening to the crickets' mournful song. "Don't worry yourself over it Ratchet. There have been no reported sightings of him, and Sector Seven has scoured the city for him once already." A growl came from Ironhide, but Optimus continued, "So whatever he's up to, he's keeping low profile for it. For all we know, he's just trying to hide out until he can find a way off the planet."

"Not if I have anything to do about it." added the Topkick as his wheels twitched once more. Perhaps, instead of waiting here they should be doing something more useful like … hunting down that fragger! The Topkick tried to ignore the heat swelling up around his spark chamber. He needed to concentrate on what was at hand. Why those rust buckets late!

Another grasshopper jumped on Ratchet's hood. He was about to transform and have a hissy fit about getting the little pests' guts all over his armor when the crickets all went eerie quiet. The CMO couldn't help but notice three bright asteroids falling to the earth, as if chasing each other. "Maybe these little pests aren't as useless as I imagined."

Optimus transformed and threw his gaze up at the night sky. There was a small jump in his chest … it was hope. He knew the likability of there being a surviving femme in the group was unlikely, but he couldn't help but hope, if only for his men's sake. Yet, Optimus was more than certain that this hope would rise to an indiscernible glee only to be shot down in a painful explosion every time an Autobot answered Optimus's call and wasn't a femme … but he needed to hope. What else could he do?

There was a wailing scream of heated metal as the three fireballs drew closer. Prime placed his fists on his hips and threw his head up in the air in a proud manner, glad to see that some of his soldier's had survived. There was a musical chime of metal as Ratchet and Ironhide transformed as well, each taking their place in Optimus's shadow … and then, they were all covered in a rain of dirt.

Coughing and hacking filled the deserted area as the three mechs tried to remove dirt and dust from their intakes. Yet, despite the fact that he was hacking, Ironhide was still managing cusses like 'rust buckets and 'kicking someone's aft', which, of course, only caused him to go back into a coughing fit. Due to their lack of cursing, Optimus and Ratchet cleared out their intakes quickly. The two mech's looked at each other's dust covered forms and then peer out into the field … well, it had been a field. Now it was a pit of flames which still had mounds of dirt falling from the sky like dead geese. Despite that, it was fairly apparent to both of the Autobots; whoever had landed sure sucked at landings … probably a seeker.

Optimus's feet sank slightly as he trudged off the gravel road and into the soft field-earth so he could get nearer to the huge crater; apparently, the three of them had been traveling very closely. Not the wisest ideas, which, sadly, led to their horrible landing. Unfortunately, there weren't many reasons for Cybertronians to land so closely together like that … unless one of them was injured. The Autobot leader found himself ultimately very glad he had taken Ratchet instead of Wheeljack. Somehow, he resisted the need to cringe at the thought of Wheeljack and tried his com link. ' _This is Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots. Please identify yourself_.'

There was merely a sting of static. The leader sighed and pulled out one of his cannons, kneeling in a stoop as he snuck up a little closer to the smocking pit in the ground. It wasn't the first time a Decepticon had tried this type of trick, using an Autobot signal to lure out a team, and he doubted it would be the last, so being cautious was a necessity. In fact, a Decepticon ambush would certainly explain why the occupants of the crater were so close together when landing … they wanted a jump on the rescue team.

A grunt came from the Autobot as he nearly lost his balance and went tumbling into the smoke ridden crater as he drew a little near. The earth was so soft! It was nice when one's feet ached, but right now, that wasn't really what he needed. Right now he needed steady ground to –

Optimus never got to finish his thoughts as a scream rose up from the pit and out jumped a bi-pedal form. The mech stared at Optimus for a moment, as if surprised by his presence, only to have his blue optics dance back towards the crater he had just jumped out of. Another enraged garble of Cybertronian filled the air as another mech tumbled out of the pit right next to Prime. The mech growled and lunged at the other bi-pedal, paying Prime no mind as the two tumbled around in the soft earth. The semi slowly stood up so he could track over to the two mechs and see what the cause of this little mockery was. Regrettably, Prime couldn't even take a step forward when a third blur jumped out of the pit, metallic legs pumping, and charged for the others, screaming a 'yahoo!' before landing in the dog pile with the other two. There was a scream from the bulkiest of the three, as well as a curse of cybertronian.

Ratchet stopped patting Ironhide on the back when it became obvious that the other was just going to continue to swear, and that helping him clean out his intakes was a waste of time. Plus, he had bigger worries then a hacking Ironhide: there was a present pile of rolling and growing mechs in front of him, which were bound to lock up a joint any minute now. Great, just what he needed, a threesome of pranksters … it was probably some seekers, whiney things really.

Finally, with a rather loud victory cry, two of the mechs finally managed to sit on the bulkier of them. **"Now, now, you don't want to get all upset and give yourself a tank ache."**

" **Like slag! You two nearly killed me! What were you thinking latching onto me when I was entering the atmosphere! I'll have you two in the brig for this!"** Growled the sandwiched mech as his claw-like fingers dug into the soft earth, his movements fruitless as he tried to escape from the two beings sitting on top of him.

" **Well, I couldn't dent my armor could I now? That incoming is a real pain in the aft. Plus, there is no brig yet."** cooed one of the mechs as his companion high-fived him. The two of them were probably already trying to find new ways to mock their captive with the help of their new favorite toy … World Wide Web.

Optimus stopped trudging forward when he heard the two mechs speak, and pinched the bridge of his nose … no. Please no. They hadn't even built a brig yet. It hadn't even crossed his CPU … until now. "Primus no."

Ratchet of course had been standing by the hacking Ironhide and hadn't heard a word from the two bi-pedals. He took some rather stalking steps forward and loomed over the group, tapping one of his fingers on his hip armor in emphasis. "And what aft-head idiots do we have here? You're lucky there was a medic on this planet, because the repercussions of landing that way could have been fatal. I'll have you –

The two mechs, which had all but wiped out the rest of the world, stalled in the torturing and defacing of their present captive. Slowly, their optics floated over to the growling Ratchet. To an on-looker it might have looked like it was fear glinting in their optics … but no. It was awe, surprise, and pretty much every evil thing that could glint over a Cybertronian's optic without turning them red. They had found him … they had found Ratchet!

" **Ratchet!"** The two mechs made a jump for the rescue vehicle catching him off guard. Ratchet barely had time to take a surprised step back and blink his emergency lights in distress before he was tackled, landing with a loud huff and dying sirens. Slowly, the cloud of dust started to rise and the CMO couldn't help but growl at the two mechs seated themselves on his chest.

" **Oh, how we've missed you."** cooed the two mechs as they started to pinch his metallic cheeks. Ratchet resisted the urge to pull out his saw by reminded himself that they were Autobots … and how they would pay during their next checkup! They would pay. Oh, how they would pay.

" **Yah, none of the other medics could replace you."** sang the one mech that was seated lazily on his left arm, **"I mean none of them have the same throwing arm you have. Admit it. You've missed us too."**

Ratchet glared at them daring them to even try to hug him as they both drew in closer. Once it became apartment that they were waiting for an answer, Ratchet's optics dimming for a moment as he tried to recall where he knew those voices from. A part of his CPU was begging him to forget and just walk away (not that he could get anywhere with being sat on at the moment), but a part of him couldn't let it be. There was rage there for some reason … and … and lots of screaming. Maybe he had deleted those files and somehow they were now resurfacing. No … he never deleted files on mechs completely … unless.

The one mech threw his arms around the other and pretended to start an' weep. **"No, no! It can't be so! Ratchet's got-got amnesia! Oh Sunny, how will I ever be able to tell him that he's the father of my evil mech child that actually is the reincarnation of Unicron!"** Sunny patted his brother on the back and the two of them pretended to weep, internally glad that they had run into the human thing called 'soap operas' so quickly. They weren't really sure why these fleshy creatures wept so much, but it was the quickest snappy comeback that they could come up with in the four point three seconds it took to realize that the green-yellowish mech was Ratchet. They'd have more fiendish pranks later … this World Wide Web was just dripping in them.

It cracked … what was left of Ratchet's sanity! There was a thunderous roar and two mech bodies went flying in the air, the race was on. Optimus and Ironhide paid it no mind as the two of them trudge toward the last mech that was still laying there on his back, in the dirt, and looking up at the sky. **"Welcome to Earth Prowl. I will admit I'm surprised not one of you was in need of repair."**

" **Or dead."** stated Ironhide flatly as he tried to ignore the sound of Ratchet's saw echoing through the night air.

" **You know what?"** added Prowl as he allowed Optimus to give him a helping hand up, shaking as much dirt as he could out of his armor. **"I hate this planet already. Not only is it covered in dirt, but I'm trapped on it with the twins … and no brig to stick them in till their afts rot off."**

Optimus merely laughed. True, there hadn't been a femme. He would not lie that his spark ached for a moment in disappointment, but at least Earth wouldn't be as boring now that a few more friends were there to suffer till the end.

XXX

Sam rubbed his new arm cast for the fifth time in the last ten minutes as it ached dully. His form shifted in the dark recesses of the garage and he fought the urge to panic. Bumblebee hadn't moved an inch in almost two days after his little freak out … had they screwed up? Had-had they killed 'Bee or broken him beyond their knowledge of repair? A staggering breath escaped Sam as a sob threatened to escape him. He buried his face in his one good hand and whimpered to the unmoving yellow figure that was surrounded by ghostly gorges in the wall and floor, which he had made in his fit. "What should I do 'Bee? I promised not to tell … I promised."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paw07: Cough. Hack. Sneeze. (glomps) Oh thank you for all your supportive reviews so everyone gets a treat. I put up a poll up on my profile page so you guys (those who haven't already voted) get to have a little sway in the story line … plus, I also just gave you my cold. (snicker, then break into a coughing fit for about two minutes). And please don't complain about the choices because I needed a character that had been at the battle at Mission City. Also, I was having some real trouble coming up with a beginning of this chapter … so I went for the old playing-games-with-the-readers-heads dream trick. Hope I threw you all in for a shock there at first. If I did, then I've been doing my job well, but I was still nice in leaving you guys a little hint that it was a dream. Bumblebee rarely refers to himself as a 'her'. I also hope none of you found it a cliché that I brought Prowl and the Twins in. I have this un-canning fear that everyone is out of character.
> 
> Hound: Uh … Paw?
> 
> Paw07: Yah, what is it? (cough ,wheeze, hack up a lung) And no, I'm not going to have the shards of the Allspark magically work again and turn that chair you seem to love so much into a femme, so don't even ask.
> 
> Hound: W-why not? … Okay, fine! I was going to tell you to start running, but I think I'll just stand and watch.
> 
> Paw07: Run … why do I need to run? Is it the leprechauns again? No! They'lls never get me lucky Johnny Depp blanket. Never!
> 
> Hound: (Stares for a moment) No, it's Ratchet, and he has just found out you have a cold, leaving you at his mercy … and he also found out that you were the one who put the Twins into the story line.
> 
> Paw07: (swallow) How big are the needles?
> 
> Hound: … They-they made me cry like a little sparkling. Run Paw! Run or we might not have another update … or my femme chair!


	7. Electrifying!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stop! Give hugs to Litahatchee for beta-ing. Time for a hug! (hugs her despite strange look she's giving me … I write drama people, of course I'm the huggy type. :P )
> 
> Also: read 'Promise Not to Laugh' to get a chapter joke.

There was a squeal of tires as the police cruiser turned rather violently, its brake lights playing over the early morning darkness, as if they were an alarm clock waking the morning sun. Another squeal of tires quickly followed as the police cruiser came to a stop. It was as if it instinctively knew a pair of eyes, or optics, if one were to be specific, were upon it. Wheeljack felt his tires twitch as he forced himself not to roll back, a little farther, into the shadows of the parking garage; he didn't need to catch the cruiser's attention. Primus, how the hell did he get into this mess to start with?

The sudden, blinding, light of a spotlight fell over the dull landscape. Wheeljack felt his circuits jump as the ray of light fell within inches of revealing his front bumper. There was no way he could move now, or he'd certainly be revealed. Slowly, despite Wheeljack's internal prayers, the light started to inch nearer and nearer to him. True, he could probably outrun him but…but…

"Any sign of that pedophile yet, Officer Gill?" came a growling voice out of the police cruiser radio. With a sigh, the middle-aged officer dropped his searchlight and braked, so that the vehicle was no longer slinking at a slow pace.

"No. I haven't seen hide nor hair of that orange, customized DeLorean," murmured officer Gill in a sullen tone, his eyes lazily tracing over the landscape. "It would help a lot more if the kids could give us a valid description of the perv, and not just the car."

"Yah, poor things," added the officer over the transmitter, "but I suppose their young minds couldn't comprehend what that pervert was saying to them, so their minds replaced him with a giant talking robot."

"Kind of like those poor people out of Mission City, huh?" added Gill, as he let up on the brake and started to pull forward again, not noting the soft engine sigh that escaped the parking garage.

"Yah … Man, some of those people still believe that there was a giant robot battle in the middle of the city. It gets a chuckle out of me just thinking about it."

The DeLorean watched, silently, as the police cruiser pulled down a narrow alley and out of sight. How did he get himself into this situation again? There was a sudden update on the local online news, and the scientist's engine sighed. It was an update about a recent offence by a local pedophile, who drove an orange DeLorean. He'd have to spend all night hacking into online news sites, the police records, and anything else that even slightly made mention of a robot pedophile. The mech sighed, again, as another site suddenly surged into life, this one saying that the government robots, which attacked Mission City, were now trying to take over the world by corrupting the minds of the young. The site was quickly sent a virus and given a quick death. He had to clean this up quick. If Ratchet or Optimus got even a whiff of this, he'd NEVER be let out of the base unaccompanied again. Really, how was he supposed to know that humans didn't discuss their mating rituals with their young?

The scientist turned his headlights back on, once he was sure that the officer had left the vicinity. What was he to do now? He had looked for Bumblebee at the Wit-Witwicky's residence, and he wasn't there. The mech then retreated to this 'lookout' area, which the young mech could be constantly found at, but he wasn't there either. It, then, became apparent, to the scientist, that the youngling had a thing about speed, so he continued to search the roads…

And that's when he got side-tracked, when he ran into a group of children, which were heading home after some sort of 'club' gathering. Everything went downhill after that.

The mech turned a corner, lazily, allowing his sensors to wash over the surrounding area like a breeze. He knew the likelihood of Bumblebee being in this rundown area was a 23.445 chance, but it was better to remain out of any crowded areas, at the moment.

After a few moments of sweeping the deserted and, slightly, human deficient streets, Wheeljack decided that it was, perhaps, best to report back to Prime and the others. Either Bumblebee was sulking, or he was really in some kind of distress. Wheeljack needed some help here. He turned on his com-link, ready to contact the team, when a soft blimp entered his sensory… It was a spark signature. The scientist froze in the street, expecting a group of Decepticons to come bounding out like a herd of deranged deer, but nothing came. When nothing happened, Wheeljack instinctively turned his wheels toward the source, feeling a sense of both accomplishment and worry settle deep into his own spark. Something was wrong here… This area was hardly a place for an Autobot, Bumblebee for that matter, to be hiding in. Yet, despite the odds that were stacking against the feeble signal, Wheeljack followed it, his wheels clicking lazily on the asphalt below.

There was a splash as the mech came to a halt, his front tire resting in a pothole of water. He couldn't believe his sensors, so he checked once, and then twice, and just a third time, to be sure. With that protective casing on his arm, Wheeljack couldn't tell, at first. "It's my human specimen."

Sam, of course, was completely oblivious to the fact that there was anyone watching him. He paced back and forth, as if waiting for death row, clutching at his casted arm, instinctively. The human stopped his pacing outside of the garage doors. He stared at the huge, metallic, doors for a moment, knowing that, deep within the building's clutches, there was a still being of dull, yellow and dark optics. The human howled in frustration and started pacing once again, unable to look at the building. It was driving him insane. He had to make a choice. HE, not anyone else, had to make a choice about Bumblebee's future. He had to decide if the Camaro would be a breeder, or a free femme. He had to decide if the Cybertronians would continue as a species, or if their fate would fall into the cold grip of extinction. He had to decide if Bumblebee would forever remain at rest. He had to decide if he wanted to break, or keep, his promise.

Sam pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, halting in his pacing, as he stared at the device beneath his fingers. He brushed his thumb, almost longingly, over the screen. 'Bee hadn't moved, not even twitched, since the repair, and Mikaela was in an utter state of panic. She had tried everything she could think of to bring the Autobot back online. The truth was, she just didn't know enough about Cybertronian physiology to be able to do anything. Sam needed to contact the Autobots. They would know what to do… They could fix Bumblebee.

There was a collection of small 'beeps' as Sam's fingers flew over the buttons of his cell phone, dialing Optimus's number. There was a soft 'hum', quickly followed by the dial tone. Sam felt himself swallow, and, then, there was a 'click' as he closed his cell phone. W-what had he almost done? What had he almost done? There was an angry scream as Sam curled his hand around the little electronic. He was ready to throw it into a pile of scrap metal against the garage's wall. Yet, he stopped, breathing heavily from his tantrum, pulling the electronic into his chest in a protective way.

This kind of ritual continued at least four more times, until the human seemed ready to break down into sobs. In fact, his eyes were on the brink of leaking. The scientist tilted his head in confusion, and knelt a little closer to the building's wall, so the human wouldn't see him. Wheeljack had long since transformed, so that he could properly use his scanners to gather information on the human's behavior. The thing was, he wasn't in the mood to observe, which was strange. His mind never seemed to stop bearing down on him with questions of, "what if," and, "why is that,"… but, it did today. Perhaps, it was because he felt like he was intruding in another's sorrow.

He hated that feeling, because he had had enough! Sorrow was something Wheeljack knew all too well. It was a constant parasite feeding off his spark, threatening to consume him. He had managed to deal with it in his own way, just like every other mech. Optimus dealt with his sorrow by using it as an incentive to strengthen his leadership, as a reminder that he needed to protect his men. Ironhide would wallow in his sorrow for only a moment, before allowing it to turn into hate, thus his short fuse. Ratchet rarely gave in to sorrow; he was the type of mech to fend it off until the very end, when his patient deactivated on the table. Bumblebee…well, actually, he had never known the youngling to show an ounce of unhappiness, at least what he could physically observe.

Wheeljack pressed his hand against his chest, feeling his spark rub against its casing in a sorrowful way. Now, Wheeljack dealt with sorrow in a different way. He would pretend the sorrow wasn't there. He couldn't face it like the others could. Even Hound dealt better with sorrow better than he did. Hound had mourned the loss of his companions, and even the Allspark, as if they were his own sparklings. When Hound had told him the news about the Allspark, Wheeljack merely pretended he had never heard the truth, placing it deep into his spark, and burying his mind in a new project, allowing the sorrow to fester.

Wheeljack stopped looking at the human and tried to fill his CPU with new thoughts; looking for Bumblebee would drive off the festering hunger of his misery. The mech redirected his sensors, looking for 'Bee's signature. The mech nearly jumped out of his CPU when a soft reply echoed in his head. It was garbled and protected, meaning that the mech was probably using his EMP field to block out his spark signature. The thing was, why was 'Bee hiding himself? Wheeljack nearly slapped himself for not connecting the facts earlier. He had just found Bumblebee.

Wheeljack found himself slowly moving forward, not wanting to scare the little human, who now had his back to him. He could tell, from a distance, by the human's hormone levels, that the human was greatly distressed. The mech then knelt down, so he didn't seem so intimidating, before he spoke to the human, who still hadn't noticed he was there, because he was too busy panicking over his phone. "Sam Wit-Witwicky, where is Bumblebee?"

Sam's heart stopped … and then violently started again; damn, it wasn't going to allow him the freedom of dying there on the spot. The human swallowed, knowing that metallic voice all too well. That voice haunted his nightmares, well, his recent ones at least. Slowly, the human turned around, clutching his phone to his chest. Sam's hair trembled on the wind as he looked upwards, ready to accept death's scythe. "Wh-Wheeljack?"

The mech nodded, noting that the human's eyes were red and puffy, but what surprised him the most was the fact that the human's heart wasn't racing like it usually did. In fact, it seemed jutting and … depressed. The truth hit him like a wrecking ball, when he caught the scent of energon off of the human. The scientist did a quick double-take of where they were. There were vehicle parts strewn all about, something he had purposely ignored, due to the fact that it reminded him of Cybertronian innards, tossed about like some human horror movie. That fact, alone, made it fairly obvious that this was a car garage, which wouldn't be a big thing, except for the fact that he knew that Ratchet had been griping about a missing part, a missing part that was probably taken, so that 'Bee could repair himself.

The huge mech hadn't even noticed that the human had been talking to him, splurging how he had stomach pains and needed to be taken to the hospital, immediately. He simply stepped over the human, and jogged over to the large building. His fingers screeched against the pavement as he quickly reached underneath the lift door, and forced it up, barely noticing how the locks screamed as they were broken. Scanners quickly fell over the room, since he couldn't see a thing, due to the dust that was reflecting the light falling into the building; he'd probably stirred it up by ripping the door open so violently. Before it completely registered, the mech was stepping over toolboxes and forgotten car engines, when he came to a halt. The mech's processors whirled in a mixture of relief and utter horror. He had found Bumblebee, but the little mech looked…deactivated. His back was slumped against the wall and his arms were lazily lying out to the side, palms up. His legs had also taken on the lazy expression of the arms, and were spread slightly. He looked like a broken rag doll that a child had left behind and long forgotten about.

There was a scream of scrapping metal as the orange mech fell to his knees. He leaned down over the smaller mech, running every external scan he could. His systems froze when he got the results, and the DeLorean quickly pulled the little mech into him, 'Bee's hands lazily dragging on the cement until his head was placed on the mech's shoulder. There was a whining hum from Wheeljack's engines as he started to prod the smaller being, worry evident in his optics.

Mikaela had been sleeping, because she had been exhausted in her workings. Running diagnostics and rechecking her handiwork under 'Bee's chassis countless times, she couldn't tell what was wrong. What had she done wrong?! Of course, guilt can only make a person an insomniac for so long, before they collapsed in an old, removed, car seat… Well, Mikaela did, at least. Sadly, her much needed rest, from the world of the living, was abruptly interrupted by a screech of metal. A shadow had fallen over her, and the female only had time to see an orange mech fall next to 'Bee, before pulling the youngling into his grasp.

The girl trembled in shock as she tried to get out of her car seat and over to 'Bee's side. She stopped when she noticed a shadow in the lit-up doorway; it was Sam. His eyes were wide as he stared at the cell phone in his hand, and, then, his unblinking gaze was cast in his lover's direction. Mikaela stiffened. Sam had been getting desperate; how else had the mech gotten here? "Sam … you didn't call the Autobots … did you?"

The teenager looked up at her with this defeated expression. "I-I didn't, but they came anyway. I broke my promise to protect 'Bee. I promised to protect her."

XXX

It is a surprising aspect, which, despite the multitude of life that lingered there, a city could be incredibly empty, and still, in some places. It was still enough, in fact, that a mech could walk completely upright, and not be witnessed. Barricade's left shoulder twitched as he loomed a little deeper into the shadows of the alleyway. A clang of metal and a meow in the distance caused the mech to jump and almost bang into the wall behind him. There was a soft scamper of metal, and the mech's hunched form suddenly stood up in full height. His red optics slowly traced about the alleyway, looking for even a hint of movement. He stood that way a moment more, his scanners going rampant, before he hunched his shoulders, grumbled, and continued forward. He had been at this for a few days now, searching silently for the slightest hint of his treasure. Yet, he hadn't found a thing. Well, there was a moment, about a human week ago, where he thought he picked up a spark signature. Yet, once he got to the alleyway, there was nothing there, except for some crumbling walls. So, here he was, searching again.

The Saleen's head suddenly shot to the left, his optics brightening as he watched a pair of optics meet his. The mech was still for a moment, trying not to make much movement, for fear of frightening it away. A soft clicking noise started to climb from the Decepticon's vocals as he got a little lower to the ground, using his long fingers to try and lure out the thing, as if it were a kitten.

After a few moments of soft clicking, Barricade received a trembling 'squeak' in return. It took all his self control not to put a wicked grin on his faceplates as the little thing, which had been hiding in the shadows, took a slow step forward. The Decepticon had been after this sparkling for days now, and, boy, was it a jumpy little slagger, small too. It seemed that, whenever he got the little thing in a corner, it would find an escape route. It was as if it knew he was a Decepticon. Well, it would be no surprise if it did; after all, the Allspark, when dropped in the battle of Mission City, had been wise enough to disguise the sparkling with red eyes, to better its survival rate.

A rather loud squeak escaped the small transformer, regaining Barricade's traveling attention and, despite the anxious looks that it kept throwing towards the garbage pile of cardboard boxes and trash it had been hiding under, it drew nearer to Barricade. Barricade remained completely still for a moment, just watching it, observing it for any signs that it was going to run. It was a rather small thing, now that he got a good look at it. It had little, if any, armor, and it was a black color, with traces of some organic material, maybe leather. The little thing also bore some kind of symbol on its chest. Was that a car horn?

Once the little thing stopped its trembling, Barricade leaned a little farther down and lifted his hand out, palm down. Barricade's clicking quickly continued. It had been a long time since the Decepticon had seen a sparkling, a youngling for that matter, that he hadn't had to kill. But, Megatron wasn't here anymore, now, was he … and, with the Allspark gone? The Saleen shivered. He didn't want to think about that, but, then again, he had to. There was no more Allspark; thus, both sides had technically lost the war. Even if they continue to wage their battles, the numbers on both sides would wane, with no more sparklings being created, and, thus, they would both lose the war. In fact, they'd go extinct. The Decepticon shivered again. It was a probability that Barricade had never even considered or, for that matter, thought of. The Allspark had always kept the populations' numbers up, but now all they had were the femmes; Barricade was _rather_ sure there were no more of them. 'Rather' being the magic word … The Allspark was rather resilient after all. It had known to make the sparkling's eyes red. Who is to say that it didn't know of the probability of its destruction, and made all of its last sparklings into femmes, in order to keep hope for the continuation of the species?

Barricade shivered at the thought. Part of him hoped that the Allspark hadn't been so wise, because that would be no way to exist. No way at all.

The black mech nearly jumped out of his heavy armor when he felt small little fingers reach out to him, wrapping its own little fingers around the tip of one of his larger fingers. Barricade was stunned for a moment, his sensors picking up the soft beating of the sparkling's spark and its other running systems. He listened to the spark, contentedly, for a moment, feeling the small calls from the spark. It was calling out for a caretaker, waiting, patiently, for Barricade's spark, anyone's, to answer back. In truth, he wanted to answer; it was instinct born in all sparks to care-take younger sparks. Yet, despite the demands of the sparkling's essence, Barricade didn't answer it in acceptance. However, he still did have interest in its spark. Barricade clicked a little more, in order to get the smaller Cybertronian's attention, willing it onto his hand, so that he could get some proper scans, and get its spark chamber open. The little transformer hesitated, before lumbering into his hand, wrapping its small arms around Barricade's thumb in order not to fall, its small red orbs glimmering with a hope that he or she might have a caretaker.

Barricade's scans fell over the small being like a ghostly fog. The sparkling seemed to be developed from some sort of car part, and not the whole car. It only, recently, redeveloped its form into a bipedal form, had no alt form, and there were signs of the beginnings of rust. The rust was probably due to being in the rain all the time, without proper armor. That wasn't its only problem; it seemed the sparkling's right leg was in need of minor repairs. The only thing that was on the small being's side were its solar panels, so it didn't seem too deprived of energy. It was a wonder, though, how the small thing could get a decent meal at all, with the smog and pollution that drowned out the sun's gracing fingers.

The Decepticon's scanner was not that of a medic. He got the information he needed, however, but it still couldn't pick up the spark signature that would tell him if it was that of a femme or that of a mech. It seems that the Allspark had made sure that, what little armor the little being had, it had covered his or her spark. Barricade brought down one of his fingers, pinning the sparkling between his thumb and fore-finger, so that it wouldn't squirm as he did the last, and most important, thing. It squirmed for a few moments, but for some reason, it didn't seem to be afraid of what Barricade was doing. In fact, it kept looking upwards, away from him. The Saleen stiffened, and quickly pulled the small being into his fist, so that it was hidden from the world and its ever seeing eyes. He then turned, red eyes glaring up at the rooftops.

There was the soft sound of crumbling brick and then a small section of the building tumbled downward towards Barricades feet, a pair of red eyes glaring down at him. Barricade felt a hiss escape his engines, which was quickly followed by one of his most despised words in the universe, "Starscream."

The flier's form soon slid into view, one clawed hand grasping, lightly, to the water tower upon the building's head. The second-in-command sneered at the ground dweller for a moment, before putting on a gruesome grin. "Well, well, if it isn't Megatron's little pet … Barricade. What are you still doing on this backwash planet, soldier? Megatron is gone."

Barricade growled and took a defensive stance. "The cause is dead Starscream, cease haunting me and go find some other fool to pester."

A few more red bricks fell as the seeker sat down, dangling his legs over the edge of the building in a cocky manner. He was telling Barricade that he was no threat to him and that he was still in charge of the situation. "The cause did not die with Megatron, Barricade. We fight on."

"For what!" snarled the black mech, throwing an accusing finger upward, "Cybertron is dead without the Allspark! In fact, we all are! There will never be a new sparkling. We will fight ourselves into extinction."

The flier's cocky air immediately dispersed and his red optics brightened with a flavor of hate. "That is exactly why we must continue … There has to be a femme lost in the cosmos, somewhere, and we must find her, before the Autobots. Whoever finds her first, survives, Barricade."

A sound that could be described as nothing else but a snort, escaped the black mech. Barricade slowly lost his defensive posture, mocking the other. "Wait … let me translate that. In other words, you want me to join you in looking for the femmes, so the Decepticons will actually follow you, because nobody will follow you otherwise, right?" Barricade heard a soft growl and then continued, "Thought so. You left this backwash planet and we both know you wouldn't come back to this planet if you didn't have to."

"And I wouldn't be here if you would have left too. You'd be gone already, if there wasn't something here."

It was, perhaps, because Barricade had forgotten its presence, or, perhaps, because he had, subconsciously, wanted to keep the sparkling from Starscream at all costs, but, whatever the reasons, the Decepticon squeezed his hand a little too tightly. The poor little thing in his palm let a squeal escape it, which immediately wiped away the enraged sneer on the seeker's face; all Decepticon's knew the scream of a sparkling all too well. Barricade only had time to throw a surprised glance at his hand when he heard the scream of jet engines. He found himself being slammed against the opposing wall, pieces of red brick falling in between the seams of his armor as Starscream slugged him once in the face, to keep him momentarily stunned.

"What do we have here?" mocked the flier, his cockiness returning with a vengeance. Starscream tightened his grip around the Saleen's neck, freeing his other hand so he could slowly pry open Barricade's fist. A cold laugh escaped Starscream as he pulled a mesh of struggling sparkling from its previous grasp. "It seems that you are a step ahead of me, Barricade. The Allspark always was … resourceful," purred the once Second-in-Command, as he pulled away from the enforcer, clutching his new toy as it squirmed, "and you were always resourceful, as well, Barricade. In fact, I'm still trying to figure out why you didn't find the Allspark first."

Starscream took a step away from Barricade and stared at the small, trembling, thing for a moment or two, before he pinned the sparkling between his fingers and chuckled, "Let's see what you're hiding, little one."

Barricade rubbed his metallic jaw as he slowly pulled himself to his feet. He heard an extremely loud 'squeak' and then he saw a soft, flickering, blue light. He didn't have to ask. A blue glow was a sure sign of a mech; a femmes' spark was either a pure powerful white color, or gold, like a star. A soft growl filled the vicinity and Barricade looked up, just in time to watch Starscream start to squeeze the little thing. The little sparkling threw a pleading look in Barricade's direction, before throwing its small head back in a wailing scream. A loud crack quickly followed, and the little Cybertronian went limp, a little bit of energon dripping down one of its arms.

Starscream grinned at the broken thing, observing it a moment, as if it were a ring on his finger, before throwing his glare at Barricade, whom was idly staring at the small dripping little fingers of the sparkling. "It seems that this one was a waste of time, Barricade. You better find the next, because if you don't … I might not overlook your 'sudden' disappearance at Megatron's last stand. I'm sure the other Decepticon's would just love to know that you are the partial cause for Megaton's untimely demise," a grin pulled at his metallic lips at those words, before he continued in his blackmail, "so, you had better get to work."

The flier then threw the motionless sparkling towards Barricade, who caught it in his palm. A roar of engines quickly followed and, then, Starscream was gone, leaving Barricade staring at the motionless thing in his palms.

XXX

Wheeljack hadn't noticed the humans' conversation behind him, nor Sam's slight slip of the tongue, but he could tell, by looking at the scratch marks in the floor and 'Bee's paint, that Bumblebee had had a total system shut down. The older mech slid his fingers under a panel at the back of 'Bee's neck, quickly pulling a cord from a panel near his wrist, inserting a connection so that he could get some readings that an external scan could not reveal. He recoiled back, slightly, in surprise…

… It couldn't be?

The older mech allowed his systems to skip in a less stressed tune. He pulled the smaller Autobot out of his close grasp and patted him on the cheek, his ears brightening in a way that could only be expressed as a grin. Now, he hadn't seen that coming, not at all. Perhaps, the humans knew something about this, since 'Bee couldn't answer him at the given moment.

Mikaela whimpered and buried her head in her boyfriend's chest when she saw the mech kneel over 'Bee … her 'Bee; fellow female in arms. He was going to find out about 'Bee's secret and he was going to take her away and make her a china doll. A china doll that would be dressed up and placed in a class cabinet, never able to leave the cabinet that she had been placed in, never able to neither taste the wind nor feel true sunlight on her metallic faceplates, trapped so tightly in a case where only her keepers' eyes could witness her in her, forever, silent cage. A cage which only they had the keys; a cage they could open, taking their fingers and stroking her ceramic, unmoving, face and sculpted body.

Mikaela trembled at the thought of being trapped in one's own body and buried her head a little deeper in Sam's neck. Sam nuzzled her hair, because he had failed, as well, to protect the fair, maiden bot. Would they ever see 'Bee again, after this moment? Would she become that china doll, due to the cruel fate that the Allspark had granted so earnestly to her? Mikaela kissed her Sam softly on the neck when she felt his shoulder muscles tighten… The orange mech was looking at him, wasn't he? He wanted to know why they had been hiding Bumblebee's 'issue' from the Autobots, didn't he? The female slowly dragged her head out of its protective crevasse, lightly allowing her large pouty lips to graze her lover's cheek in a departing, affectionate, manner. She would face the executioner, and any judgment he wished to impart upon her.

Wheeljack's ears were slightly lit up and he slowly pulled himself downward towards them. "You were the one who did Bumblebee's repairs… weren't you?"

Mikaela tightened, swallowing, her voice trembling. The repairs? What about them? Why didn't he care that 'Bee was a femme unless, "… I killed…killed 'Bee, didn't I?" The tears started to fall down her cheeks once more. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I-it's just that 'Bee was so persistent and I wasn't experienced enough. Now the only femm-"

Mikaela's voice caught on the word, 'femme,' when the orange mech threw his head back in a laugh, his ears lighting up to an almost blinding magnitude. "I was going to congratulate you on doing a fine repair job, but now I'm wondering if your work might have been a fluke, if you don't even know how to on-line him."

The girl's eyes went wide as she looked at Sam. His eyes were wide, as well… They had called 'Bee a 'she' at least twice in the orange mech's presence and nearly blurted out the word 'femme.' The girl swallowed the thought… They weren't out of the deepwater, yet, and wouldn't be 'till Bumblebee woke up.

"A-and how do you online her-im, _him_? It doesn't have anything to do with opening the chest, does it? Because if it does … I," the female thought fast, "I want to do it. He's my patient, so it's my responsibility."

Wheeljack decided that he liked this human. She had pride, both in her work and her mistakes; he'd be interested in examining her when he had the time. "No, but I should check over your work first. Primus knows Ratchet's going to have a … How does the human phrase go … 'cow'? How a species can birth a creature out of its species is beyond my understanding, especially when it is a definite fact, from what I understand, that humans cannot birth cows."

Sam and Mikaela stood there for a moment, giving Wheeljack the raised brow; they were still trying to comprehend what the hell he was talking about. It wasn't till the larger mech started to move back over towards 'Bee, did the protective part in Mikaela override the "huh?" moment she had just had. She had to stop Wheeljack's prying fingers. "Ummm … why don't you restart him first? If he doesn't wake up, then … then I'll do something else."

The scientist tilted his head, very proud indeed. He was slightly excited about deciphering the human mind, as well as the body, now, too. "Of course," he answered, before leaning over 'Bee's still form once again.

"What are you doing?!" cried Sam and Mikaela, in unison, when they noticed that Wheeljack was leaning a little too close to the still femme's form. In fact, one of his palms was lying directly on her chassis.

Wheeljack twitched at the volume of their voices. Didn't they know he had sensitive ears? Wait! No, they probably didn't know… "I'm going to jump him. What does it look like I'm going to do?"

The humans' mouths literally dropped open and Sam found himself running up, clamoring onto 'Bee's chest, getting between the two. "You're going to JUMP him? Like, 'jump his bones,' jump him?!" The human's voice started to get squeakier and squeakier as he continued, fear of Wheeljack momentarily forgotten … Maybe he had found out 'Bee was a 'she' with those few scans?! "I don't think Bumblebee wants that kind of physical contact right now … and doing it while he's, I'm stressing the 'he' part, asleep is considered RAPE! Back off!"

Wheeljack pulled back slightly, recording the human's reaction. Ironhide had mentioned something about 'human slang'. It, apparently, meant that words were used in a different context than their true definition stated. The orange mech quickly accessed the World Wide Web and entered a dictionary site for 'slang.' His optics widened by a decibel, and he looked directly at Sam, "Sam… do humans always have a sex orientated way of thinking, when they are near their mate, because you have never made such an approach towards me before, when I have been in the same vicinity of all the other Autobots."

Sam's eyes got wide and a blush danced over his face, "N-no! It's just that you are acting weird around 'Bee, and what, exactly, do you mean by 'jump?'"

Wheeljack tilted his head, ears lighting up slightly. "I believe what I'm about to do would be like jump-starting a car. I'm going to plug myself into Bumblebee's systems and send an electric pulse through him. He should pull out of stasis, once I'm done."

Sam's eyes got wide, "I-is it going to hurt him?"

Another sound that could only be described as a chuckle escaped the DeLorean, "No. In fact, it will, definitely, leave his systems in a pleasant buzz. In human terms, it's kind of like foreplay. Don't worry; medics do this all the time."

Sam squeaked, "Um … ummm …um," yet the human didn't get another word in, edgewise, as Wheeljack slowly reached foreword, picked up the small being, and placed him on the floor.

"Please move back… There will be a large amount of electricity moving through his body and I think 'Bee would be rather … dissatisfied … if I electrocuted his human. Now, don't worry, this won't hurt him." Wheeljack turned his attention back to the young scout, placing a hand behind his neck and bringing him forward into his chest. He then pulled a different cord out of his wrist and there was a soft click as he plugged into 'Bee's systems through the port in the back of his neck. Wheeljack felt his engines purr at the system contact, willing him to make larger connections, but he wouldn't, despite the fact that it had been a long time since he had this kind of contact with a mech. Generally, when a mech needed a 'jump', one would take them back to the medical bay, but, on the battlefield, direct jumpings were a common practice. Also, Wheeljack was rather sure Ratchet didn't want Bumblebee brought back in a bridal carry… That might attract attention.

Wheeljack felt 'Bee's spark pulse once the connection was complete, but he quickly blocked off any information that was trying to crawl through the connection. It was a medic's responsibility to respect their patient's thoughts. The orange mech felt his systems relax, slightly, before he threw himself into a higher gear, feeling his engine roar as a jolt of energy was thrown through the connection. He pulled 'Bee a little closer into his chest, as his system was momentarily deprived of energy, little sparks of electricity jumping over the both of them. After a moment or two, Wheeljack's engines stopped revving, and he pushed the other away, watching little bolts of electricity spark in the air around the yellow mech… Yet, his optics were still dark. Wheeljack's engine gave a disgruntled growl, "Come now, Bumblebee. I don't have to call Ratch-"

"Try it again!" cried the two humans as Ratchet's name nearly escaped the orange mech.

The mech jumped, slightly; he had almost forgotten the humans were there. He stared at the both of them, for a moment, and shook his head in a manner that Ironhide had been using. First, they didn't want him to touch 'Bee and, now, they were begging him to. Ratchet hadn't lied about humans being indecisive. "Fine, let me try this once more."

The scientist sighed and brought the yellow femme into his chest, patting the back of Bumblebee's neck as he readied himself for the next jolt; 'jumps' kind of sting if the other system doesn't answer. Wheeljack stopped, pulling away from the other, momentarily, when he felt how hot Bumblebee's systems were… It was like he was overheating. The mech stared at the smaller being, for a moment, pushing the heat off as nothing more than an after-effect of the first, failed, 'jump.' But, if the mech would have taken the time to really pay attention, he would have noticed the twitching of Bumblebee's right hand.

Wheeljack replaced 'Bee's head back into his chassis and was about to try once more, when a squeak came from behind him. "Um…Wheeljack? I don't think that's necessary. Wheeljack …?"

Sam's eyes got a little wider when he heard Wheeljack's engines start to rev again, ignoring the human…and, then, 'Bee's hand slowly started to rise. The human swallowed. If 'Bee was awake, why wasn't he pushing the other away? He had freaked out last time, when Ratchet had gotten that close to him, so why was... Sam's eyes got really wide when he noticed that 'Bee's other hand had risen, and then…started running his fingers over the wing-like extensions on Wheeljack's back…and not in a, "friend," type of touch. It was more like a, "I've come to molest you," type of touch.

Wheeljack didn't hear Sam's 'squeak', or his warning, because he had started revving his engine again. The strange thing was, it wasn't just his engine energies that were tracing through his connection, but, this time, his spark energies were reacting. That wasn't right… Was it reacting to the way Bumblebee's body was heating up? Of course, the mech didn't get time to dwell on this, when he suddenly felt fingers sliding up his lower back, which, then, started to drag up to his higher back. The fingers were soft in their touches, almost with the grace of a lover. In fact, they mocked the touch of a lover, especially when they started to dip between the armor plating in the orange mech's back, causing his engine to hiccup with pleasure. Wheeljack was about to protest when he felt a slam of energy slide back through the connection, making him throw his head back with a silent scream of pleasure, his optics off-lining.

It had started out with Bumblebee feeling like his systems were slowly waking up, that there was someone willing him to wake, but, then, the heat returned. It was the same aching heat that consumed his spark chamber, driving his spark insane, beckoning it to slam into its casing…calling out to the other's spark. Wait, what? Bumblebee tightened when he felt his limbs reach up of their own accord, obeying his spark's cries, and starting to caress the other. Bumblebee's spark nearly bled out of its casing when it felt a soft reply from the other spark. The femme almost fell into the soft reply, about to open her spark chamber… 'Bee, suddenly, pulled back at his own spark's reply, feeling it cry out in pain as he slammed his energies back into his body.

Bumblebee's optics came online in a hurry. The first thing he noticed were the bolts of soft electricity jumping everywhere. It took a moment or two to notice the orange arms wrapped around his shoulders, and the shaking chassis his head was lying against. Someone was holding him and, whoever it was, was trembling as he tried to keep his own spark's cries at bay. Bumblebee soon found himself thrashing out, trying to get away from whoever was holding him, and this strange presence that seemed to be lingering in the back of his head. A grunt filled the garage, along with a slight cry of pain. Bumblebee suddenly felt the warmth in his chest disperse, along with the figure that had been holding him, only to have the warmth in his chest replaced with a pang of pain in the back of his neck.

"Um … well that was … e-electrifying," came a slightly bubbly voice, which was just dragging with a hint of confusion.

The yellow mech stopped reaching for the back of his neck and looked towards the voice, forgetting the sting in the back of his neck, and remembering the form that had been holding him. The femme's back slammed against the cement wall in surprise. "W-wheeljack? Why are you here?! What-what were you doing to me?"

"J-jumpstart … my, um, it seems like there was some f-feedback." The two mechs stared at each other, one having no idea what was going on and one who had just had his CPU fried from the sudden disconnection.

"You didn't have to p-push me," Wheeljack said next, a bit painfully. "Now look what you've done?" Bumblebee's optics grew wide and he automatically looked afraid. Had he hurt Wheeljack?

Wheeljack slowly sat up, clutching his wrist, and regretting his harsh tone as he watched the younglings frame shiver slightly in fear, "Sorry-orry, didn't mean to snap. It's just that, when you pushed me away-y, you scared me, and, well… this kind of hurts."

The soft sound of energon hitting the floor quickly followed. Bumblebee slumped his shoulders as he watched energon slowly drip out from the orange mech's wrists. The smaller mech ignored his fear of the older mech and slowly dragged himself forward, wrapping his own hands around Wheeljack's wrists, observing the wound the scientist had attained and the way the energon fell between his finger joints. Bumblebee had had energon on his hands many a time from enemies and dying companions alike … but he had never recalled how dirty it made him feel until now.

"I-I didn't really do-do this … did I?" asked the smaller mech, slightly surprised by his voice. Slowly, he looked up at the larger mech, expecting an answer… Wheeljack would never hurt him on purpose, would he?

"You ripped out my port when I was trying to jumpstart your systems. I-it was my fault for scaring you," answered Wheeljack, softly, as he pulled his wrist away from the smaller mech and he started to make a short-term fix. Yet, for some reason, Wheeljack's fingers shook terribly as he did this … his spark was still reacting funny and there was all this extra energy jumping through his systems. Also, for some reason, Bumblebee's touch just increased his spark's dismay over their sudden separation.

"Jumpstart?" added 'Bee, softly, twitching at the sound of his own voice once again. He had always been good at ignoring all major medical … well, 'medical' anything. That's probably why he was a scout. Either you were sighted and killed, or you didn't get caught and, consequently, injured. It had worked out well for him … until he had the misfortune of getting a damaged vocal processor.

"Yes … ju-jumpstart," added the stand-in medic, in a questioning tone. Hadn't Bumblebee ever gotten a jumpstart? That seemed unlikely. After major repairs, most mechs had to be jumpstarted and…What was with Bumblebee's systems, anyway? He had just started to overheat and, well, Wheeljack's systems reacted and still were for that matter. "I'm worried about how your sssss-systems overheated there. R-ratchet can perform a full diagnostic, to see why you were overheating, and have a proper look at your repairs… Prime probably wants to talk to you, too," Wheeljack added, softly, as he watched Bumblebee's form shiver. "Is-s something wrong, 'Bee?"

"No-no … It's just that … Do I have to? Can't I just go home?"

"We are going h-home," Wheeljack replied with a small laugh, his ears faintly lighting as he spoke, "that's what the base is now, 'home.'"

Bumblebee nodded, knowing that if he didn't go with Wheeljack, someone else would just come and get him. The mech sighed and looked at his feet, finally noticing the two humans there. They both threw a worried glance up at him, mouthing, silently, that they'd think of something on the way up there. 'Bee nodded, but stopped, "Sam … what happened to your arm?"

"Now let's get goin'," added Wheeljack as he ignored the little spurts of electricity jumping over his form, "Apparently, we have some new arrivals." "Wheeljack slowly rose to his feet and stood there a moment, his optics flickering, and, then, there was a crash, Wheeljack down for the count, as dust rose around his unmoving frame."Sam looked at the "dead" mech, and then to 'Bee, and then back to Wheeljack. He stood there a moment, and then murmured, "You killed him 'Bee!"

The yellow mech jumped at his human's voice, wings twitching, "W-what?"

"You killed him 'Bee! You killed him with your femmely-womanly-ness!" cried Sam as stared up at the car, little blue sparks jumping in his hair. The only sound that filled the air after that was the sound of Mikaela slapping her hand over her eyes and shaking her head at his stupidity. But to top it off, it seemed Sam wasn't done yet, "And Ratchet's going to be so pissed … hurry 'Bee, grab the body. I'll find a saw so we can start chopping him up into little pieces."

And then Sam ran off, laughing like a mad man. The two females sat there a moment, each as confused as the other, but that didn't mean 'Bee was blind.

"Mikaela," asked 'Bee in a questioning tone. "What just happened, and what was wrong with Sam's arm?"

"It's the painkillers 'Bee … it's the painkillers," said the girlfriend as she threw a dull look at Wheeljack, "What should we do with the body?"

XXX

A grunt filled the air, quickly followed by another. Now, for those of you that have your mind in the gutter, it was not that type of grunt, nor was it the type of grunt that a person has after too many prunes … It was the grunt of hard labor; hard, earth moving, mud slapping, pit digging labor. A loud splat filled the pit, a growl quickly following.

Sunstreaker growled, turning towards the other figure in the mud pit that they were presently digging; aka…the new brig.

The sunshine yellow Lamborghini threw a glare at his brother, "You got mud on my paint job."

"Is he gone?" added Sideswipe, as he poked his head out from behind a mound of mud, his optics wide and turning wildly from one side to the other, like a wild dog.

"Who cares?! Mud … on … paint…" hissed the yellow twin, as he pointed at his chassis for emphasis. This was blasphemy, putting him in this pit like a common criminal.

"Check," added his brother, his neck up a little, as he tried to see over the very top of the pit. For some reason, he kept expecting that Ratchet and Prowl were collaborating up there, just waiting to bury them, alive.

"No, you check," added Sunny, sullenly.

"Fine," added the Petunia of Peril as he threw a grin at the other Lamborghini, "then I'll just have to push you in the mud to get over there."

"I'd like to see you try."

A grunt and a splash filled the large pit as the two started to thrash around in the mud like a couple of sparklings. This continued for a few moments, until two pairs of optics gaudily peered over the edge of the pit.

"Huh … where'd he go? Usually he'd be giving us a lecture by now … …. I feel abandoned," cried Sideswipe as he threw himself into his brother's arms, acting like a drama queen from a MTV 'reality' show.

"Don't know, don't care," grumbled his twin, a grin slowly crawling over his face and, then, a loud splat filled the vicinity as the yellow Lamborghini put a fist full of mud on the top of his brother's head. "Missed a spot."

Sideswipe pulled away from his brother and bared his dental plating in an angry expression, revealing his only non-mud covered plating, which slowly dragged itself into a grin. "Grab a shovel, Sunshine," he ignored the growl he got, "And let's hurry an' dig a secret escape route out of here."

The growl died in Sunny's throat, "I love the way you think, sometimes … but, you're still going to pay for getting mud all over me. And was it really necessary to start a fight to see if he was up there?"

"I love the way I think, too, and, yes, it was necessary … Now, less talk, more shovel!"


	8. Broken Bonds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Please mind I mixed up chapter 6 and 7 so I had to re-post the mast three chapters in correct order. Also, everyone give hugs to Litahatchee for beta-ing for me, and check out her fic "Night Fire". It will give you something to do while I procrastinate over the next chapter.
> 
> Also, I want to give credit for the Bond Brothers/ Brother Bonds idea to "An Cailin Rua".

The metallic tiles beneath their feet echoed dully, their whimpers reaching up towards the two metallic beings above them. Prowl's battle computer automatically counted the number of tiles in the hallway…432.

Then, suddenly, Prime stopped, and Prowl couldn't help but notice that his leader's shoulders seemed to be sagging. The tactician could never understand how Prime's emotions could so easily grate through his barriers and into the open like that. Prowl's emotions rarely ever escaped. It wasn't that he didn't have them; it was more a "keep face" for soldiers of lower rank. He could not look weak. Then again, that was why Optimus was the commander and not him.

"Is something the matter Prime? Is it about my debriefing?" asked the smaller mech as he stopped to face his commander, holding his wings high to show that he cared, despite the emotionless nature of his vocals.

The commander slowly turned around, his engine whining slightly, "Perhaps we should sit down in my office. I'd rather tell you ... in a more comfortable setting."

He was stalling? Prowl's battle computer started running simulations on why their commander was stalling, before answering, "Of course, Prime." The mech threw a look down the hall as a giggle echoed down its tresses, "but I think a link would be best, instead of just telling me." Prowls door wings twitched slightly, as did one of his optics, "I don't think it wise to leave Sunstreaker and Sideswipe _alone_."

On any other day, Optimus would have laughed to see Prowl twitch like that. Secretly, he enjoyed the pranks those two blood-thirsty hooligans pulled off, if only to see Prowl's emotional temper break. He'd never admit that to Prowl, though. In fact, the only mech who knew was Jazz. Yes, Jazz…

The door leading to the Autobot leader's office swung open with a soft hiss. He stood there a moment, staring at Prowl, as if daring him not to follow his friendly suggestion before he made it an order. "Take a seat, Prowl. Sorry for the lack of furnishings, but we haven't been here that long, so I'm sure you understand."

Prowl's wings twitched and he threw a glance down the hall as if expecting the twins to come rushing down the hallway, petitioning one type of destruction or another. Nope, just 432 tiles, and with that thought, he entered, waiting for Prime to sit before he took a seat himself. Once seated, the enforcer spoke, "Prime, leaving the twins alone, on a new planet, unsupervised, with shovels, without supervision, is -"

Prime cut him off with a wave of his hand. "They are grown mechs ... I think they are more than capable of taking care of themselves. Now, I need to inform you about the battle at Mission City and the planet Earth itself," the leader stilled for a moment, "amongst other things that are of a distressing nature."

Prowl noticed the dull quality in Prime's vocals immediately. He was preparing himself to tell Prowl bad news, instead of just up-linking the entire battle to him. Yet, that was unnecessary. Prowl knew what was wrong. He knew the Allspark was gone. His battle computer connected all the dots for him. It was a perfect conclusion to why Optimus was not, at the present moment, bringing Cybertron to life with the Allspark. The Deception's sure hadn't captured it, either, because Prime would be hot on their heels, instead of on this "interesting" planet. It was distressing news, but he would not lie. His battle computer had come to the same conclusion once... Destroying the Allspark would end the war. Of course, that was _before_ Megatron's genocide of the femme population. Apparently, Prowl's battle computer wasn't the only one to come to that conclusion; thus, the poor femmes were the ones to suffer.

Now, it was fairly obvious that this was a grim future, indeed, without any form of reproduction, but if there was one thing Prowl had learned from observing the few femmes he had met: they were hard bitches to kill, to quote a "human" word Ironhide has used earlier. Plus, his battle computer had also computed the percentage of possible surviving femmes. It was a small, very slim, number…but it wasn't under one.

The tactician suddenly stopped his thoughts. There was no time to dwell on this; they still had rogue Decepticons to worry about. Besides, he wasn't the type for outward mourning. He had work to do. So much work...which would probably now be tripled since he left the twins alone!

"Prime," added the white mech as he watched Optimus's fingers twitch slightly on the table, "I don't wish to interrupt, but wouldn't it be more time worthy just to data burst the information or up-link? Up-linking is preferred, though. I will be able to write and review reports more accurately...besides," Prowl's door wings twitched, "there's no one watching the twins."

Same old Prowl, always working himself into the ground. Optimus wanted to smile, because there was something familiar and comforting about listening to Prowl's paranoia when it came to the twins. However, his smile caught itself and fell back into a frown. He was going to break Prowl. He was going to break the old, reliable, never changing aspect to his life. But, Prowl would find out sooner or later. When one's bonded brother deactivated, the other would know, and the only reason Prowl didn't know, at this present moment, was because he had locked up his spark. This was a very common thing when brothers or mates were separated for long amounts of time, or distances, because of the war. It was meant to protect ... but it hurt like hell when the spark final realized that there was no more bond waiting out there, somewhere, in the universe. True, a spark lock on mates saved a lot of mechs when the femmes were extinguished, but that didn't mean that some still didn't follow towards the next plane.

Despite himself, Prime shook off his depressing thoughts, along with the ache that now resided in his chest from dwelling on the spark block issue. Sighing, pinching his nose bridge in a very human-like manner, he leaned back in his chair. Same old Prowl. "Prowl ... they are fine. I need -"

"Optimus, please at least allow me to call someone else to watch the twins in my absence. Perhaps Ironhide…"

"At the Lennox's," added Prime in a slightly dry tone.

Prowl had no idea what a 'Lennox' was, but continued, "Then perhaps Ratchet could…"

"Only if you want them dead," added Prime as he started to rock himself with one foot. That glomping session had been pretty funny at the landing sight, but it, unfortunately, enraged the medic whose temper had been dormant for far too long since landing on earth. Basically, it was a bomb waiting to explode, and Prime really didn't need red and yellow matching lawnmowers.

Prowl's optic twitched. Prime was being childish, wasn't he? "I believe you said that Hound was also…"

"With his chair," added Prime, trying to keep the amused tone out of his voice as he watched Prowl's wings twitch an inch in irritation, before reclaiming their normal position.

Prowl stopped, ready to name off the next name, but stopped and reviewed the information his commander had just given him. He quickly gave his leader a questioning look, "His ... chair?"

Optimus stopped rocking in his spring loaded chair for a moment. Oh yah, he hadn't sat in "the chair" yet, nor knew of Hound's obsession with it. "I won't deny you the pleasure of finding out yourself."

"I ... see." Prowl made a mental recount of Ironhide's mumbling before he departed from the rest of the group in order to go to this Lennox place. "I recall Ironhide mentioning something about Wheel-"

"Following an MIA."

The tactician barely reacted to this news. He would know soon enough who was 'Missing In Action' and wasn't going to allow Prime stalling-time by asking, "Then what of Bumble-"

"The MIA."

"Oh, come now, Prime," Prowl's wings dripped down in irritation, "Is this really a time to be childish?"

A sudden hard glare hit him, and the enforcer sank down into his chair. He had overstepped his grounds, hadn't he?

Prime continued his glare, despite the enforcer's obvious retreat from the game, "Then stop acting childish, Prowl. I have serious news I wish to inform you of and here you are too busy worrying if the twins are up to a prank."

There was a stillness in the room, until Prime heard a soft click. He noticed that Prowl had put one of his hands on the desk, palm up, and a small up-link cord was withdrawn from the safety of its container within his wrist. "Then inform me. Whatever it is Prime, I can take it. I am not a youngling. I can take bad news."

Prime stared at the cord for a moment and sighed, accepting Prowl's stubbornness. After all, it was that very stubbornness that made him his Third in Command in the first place. Well, Second in Command soon enough. A soft click resonated over the room and Prime dragged his hand forward, taking up Prowl's arm by the wrist, connecting his up-link with the other. "I hope you can, old friend. Please forgive me for my failure."

Prowl wanted to inquire on what Prime meant by 'failure', but found Prime slamming information through the connection. The enforcer quickly dropped his firewalls in order to keep any information from being destroyed. His battle computer quickly played over the information, picking out faults in battle stances and attack methods, noting weapons used, the humans and the native language, the battle with Megatron, Sam Witwicky's quick thinking, the destruction of the Allspark, the end of the battle, and the assessing of ... c-casualties?

...

...

...

The moment was lost within itself, bleeding within itself, choking itself with its own fingers as it tried to kill off all knowledge before it could truly be known. It was as if a pebble had fallen into a pond, yet there was no ripple to follow, only the knowledge that a pebble had indeed fallen and was now that the bottom of the pond, but the ripple was merely waiting. It was coming.

It was coming.

Prowl felt his spark block suddenly break open, despite his battle computer's reaction to keep it closed, trying to protect itself from the pain it knew was coming. There was stillness for a moment, as if his fingers were just gracing the surface of a pond, seeing if there was truly such a thing as 'ripples.' At first, there was nothing, but then the ripples fell in all directions, fleeing from him, leaving him alone as they fled into the darkness.

Reality beckoned him forward, and slowly the tactician's CPU dragged itself back out of the waters, away from the ripples that his spark seemed to be sending out, only to never be returned once he became conscious of himself once again. It was then that he noticed the sound of gasping cooling fans, soft trembling movements, and a warm hard grip on either shoulder. Prowl's battle computer also seemed to be rebooting. It was then that Prowl's optics widened with a realization before his battle computer could completely comprehend. No…it was illogical. It WAS illogical.

Optimus put a gentle squeeze into the two shoulders he was holding. It wasn't much of a shock that Prowl would act negatively to the information, but he hadn't exactly been expecting such a violent reaction. The white mech first trembled once the information hit him, his form slamming forward as his fingers dug into Prime's desk while his engine screeched. That alone was shocking enough, but then Prowl continued by throwing his head back before a pained whimper escaped his vocal processors. Luckily, Optimus found his feet, grabbing Prowl's shoulders before his half-conscious form could fall forward and slam his cranial unit into the edge of Prime's desk. He knew that Prowl and Jazz had had a strong bond; it was old. However, not even he had reacted so badly when he allowed his spark to recognize the loss of his old friend.

A few still moments passed with Prime saying nothing. He just held onto the white mech's shoulders, rubbing them slightly for a moment, careful not to touch the sensitive wings that seemed to be expressing his sorrow in the only way they knew how, by dropping until the weight of itself was tugging painfully at the seams. Yet, slowly, the enforcer stood up, despite Optimus's soft murmurs for him to stay still and allow his spark to calm a little from the sudden, broken connection.

"I-I have much work to do Optimus," came a low, almost whispering, tone as Prowl pushed his leader's hands off his shoulder. The taller mech was about to replace his hands and force Prowl to sit, but he was already to his feet and out of the door, ignoring his commander's sad gaze that followed him down the hall.

…

The soft chirp of a tugging engine filled the hall as Prowl walked down it. His head was hung low and his wings seemed to be praying to the floor; praying to be released from their living prison and from the pain that came from it. The enforcer stopped and threw a look backwards, even though his scanners already told him the truth; what had just happened in Prime's office was, indeed, reality. Yet, for some reason, his CPU was still expecting a silver form to come bounding his way, visor flickering.

The enforcer looked down at the floor in shame when he suddenly recalled his behavior from a few moments ago. He had retreated … but he couldn't look Optimus in the optic; he couldn't think or process anything, but he had to get away. He couldn't even remember what he told Optimus in order to get away, but he remembered walking out of the room as quickly as possible, despite his leader's soft, commanding, voice. He needed to retreat and regroup himself … He needed to chase after those ripples and demand why they had left him. He needed so many things. But, mostly, he needed to know why Jazz had left. Jazz was his greatest companion, someone who hadn't treated him as if he was cold-sparked. He was someone who Prowl could relax around and laugh and feel like any other mech. It wasn't his fault was it? Was it really his fault that he listened to his battle computer and its logical, insensitive, tone, over his emotions, in order to keep them all alive? Was that really so unacceptable that he had never seemed to own what a human would call a soul?

He did have a soul; he did have emotions, and he was wishing that he did not.

There was a soft clang of metal as Prowl's legs gave out on him, his knees slamming into the cold tiling below. The mech was still for a moment, his engine stalling. His greatest and closest companion was gone. The tactician now understood the misery of his spark and buried his face in his hands as soft clicks escaped him. It was then, in the dark tresses of that corridor, that Prowl found himself envying the organic bipedals…the humans. They were susceptible to mortality and believed that death was a reuniting key to loved ones long passed, but, mostly, he envied them for something they considered an ultimate weakness…A human could cry.

How Prowl wished he had tears to shed.

XXX

Ironhide twitched on his tires as he sat in the Lennox's yard. Will's wife had just thrown "the look" out at him, through the window, with that smile of hers, which spoke a thousand words. He then heard her 'coo' to the couple's offspring. "We're going for a ride. Mommy needs groceries and some other things."

The little girl giggled.

The large mech crawled an inch down the driveway, but stopped himself. There was a strange mixture of dread and wanting in his spark. In fact, it was that very wanting that kept him coming back to the Lennox's, despite some 'inconveniences;' no, wait, 'torture' would be a more proper word. In fact, he knew that the little sparkling was laughing at him. Probably, because she knew what a grocery run really meant. It meant that she could throw her animal crackers under his seat, get toys stuck between the lining of his seats, run her slimy little hands over his window, and ... and ... then there was the car seat. It was just so itchy and, not to mention, humiliating. If he ran into a Decepticon, the slagger would probably deactivate from laughter alone, which probably was a good thing, considering he couldn't transform with the little horrible plastic thing in him anyway. Yet, that wasn't the worst part. He could take it. He was built to withstand any torture and, in the end, it seemed worth its weight in gold to hear the small sparkling's coos.

It was the shopping that was the real torture. Now, don't get him wrong. He could take the hot parking lots, the constant stopping and going, the traffic, the horrible musical selection, the slippery cold feeling of a gallon of milk on his floorboards, the shifting feeling of plastic bags as he drove around, as well Annabelle's bottle being thrown and breaking open on his dash! He could take it all, but not that place ... that place of beefy horror.

Ironhide trembled at the mere thought. The first few times he had thought little of it and barely thought more of it then he did a gallon of milk. But that simple ignorance couldn't last. He had to learn what the butcher was and why Sarah stopped at the store weekly. It had been a bad package and, at first, Ironhide's scanners couldn't really tell what it was that was leaking out … until the smell. He had slammed on his breaks and cried, "Bodies! There's cut up pieces of meat flesh in me!" It all went downhill, after that, for the entire day, with one rather pissed Ratchet, who had to play psychologist at the end of it all.

Now, since that day, Ironhide had managed to disappear whenever Sarah was planning on going grocery shopping, but for some reason, he found himself missing one aspect of the trips…little Annabelle. She was wonderful, the way she'd gurgle and coo, stretching her fingers up at the air as if she was grasping heaven and bearing its very innocence. It was that very innocence that Ironhide needed. Her soft little presence bore away the nightmares that dared to consume him. The nightmares that his species was at an end, that he'd never get to hear another sparkling coo, or be allowed to teach a youngling how to properly aim his or her gun. The nightmare that their kind would rust away into nothingness… Eternal life was meaningless if all one could see was a lonely end.

It was a thought that had been haunting him horribly since the destruction of the Allspark. So much so, that the deactivations of the femmes haunted him during every recharge, but, then, one night he was stirred from his nightmares by a soft cooing noise. At first, his spark jumped in confusion and, then, hope, while he started looking for the sparkling the coos were coming from. It didn't take long for his scanners to tell him where the sparkling was coming from…only this wasn't a Cybertronian sparkling, but a human's. It was little Annabelle, and she had woken up in the middle of the night, standing in her crib and looking out of her window at him. He must have woken her up due to his nightmares. Needless to say, he spent the rest of the night, and many others, using holograms to keep the child cooing happily, which calmed the sadness of his spark, slightly. He might never get to hold one of his kind's sparklings, but there was always Annabelle.

His … Annabelle.

A small part of him lit up when he saw Sarah come out of the house with her arms full of fabric shopping bags and a car seat, which was full of "his" precious Annabelle. A part of his spark melted when the little femme reached outward, cooing in his direction. If she could talk, Ironhide knew she'd be giggling his name. Today was going to be a good day … despite the meat. Yet, it seemed that his readiness was wasted; his Com link has just buzzed to life.

" _Ironhide?"_

The mech was silent for a moment _, "… Arcee?"_

" _W-what?! I'm not Arcee! This is Bumblebee!"_

There was a moment of silence before Ironhide spoke again through the Com link, " _Are you sure you're not Arcee?"_

" _Yes!"_ cried the younger mech over the connection. " _Why are you calling me Arcee anyway?"_

Ironhide chuckled softly before stating, " _Well … it's just that you kind of sounded feminine; like you were a femme or something."_

" _What?! I'm not a femme! I'm not a femme!"_ cried the younger being in a near hysteria.

" _Woh! Calm down, kid! Calm down."_ Ironhide was silent for a moment. " _Bee?"_

" _Yes?"_

" _When did you get your vocal processor fixed?"_

The younger mech took his turn at being silent before he mumbled, _"You see, that's what I'm calling about. Could you maybe see if … wekilledWheeljack?"_

" _W- what did you just say?"_

" _Just get over here!"_

XXX

Bumblebee hung up and sighed; he was glad he had gotten a hold of the old mech. He wouldn't have asked anyone else. There was just something relaxing about the old timer. So relaxing, in fact, that a part of him had considered telling Ironhide, first, that he was a femme, after the Allspark was retrieved, that is. But, plans go astray. There was no Allspark anymore, nor were there any femmes … There was just him. The small mech's wings dropped at the thought. Oh, how he wished he could tell Ironhide. In all truth, if Ironhide was anyone but Prime's oldest companion, he would have told him today, confident the old mech would keep the secret with him. That was just something someone expects from one's caretaker. Suddenly, there was the sound of shifting dirt and the mech's optics brightened, crawling from his thoughts. The young mech quickly looked down towards his feet, only to notice Sam looking up at him expectantly.

"I got a hold of Ironhide," Bumblebee stated, answering Sam's unasked question.

"What'd he say? He tell you to start digging a hole behind the garage, because I so got the shovels ready," answered Sam as he stepped away from his guardian's still form, towards Wheeljack's "dead" body.

Bumblebee shook his head at his charge's antics. He had to make sure Sam stopped watching so many crime movies, but now something else was bothering him after talking with Ironhide. He needed an answer. "S-Sam, Mikaela…do I sound like a f-femme? I mean, a girl?"

The two looked at him for a moment with shocked looks, which then turned into ones of confusion. "Um … sort of. I guess."

A squeal of agony filled the room; it was kind of girly, and Bumblebee fell to his knees, a wailing mass. The mech quickly leaned his face into the cement as he hissed to himself. This was not happening! This couldn't be happening. His body was trying to push his secret out any way it could, so it automatically changed the vocal settings that Ratchet had set into the piece, and changed his vocals registers into that of a femme. How was he going to hide this? Claim a vow of silence? Yah, like he could keep silent. It was over, he just as well find the nearest ocean and throw himself in. Maybe he'd rust in a few decades if he was lucky.

Suddenly, a clang echoed through the room and the yellow mech sat up with a small yelp, expecting to see Ratchet. Instead, he was merely presented with Mikaela, who had a wrench in her hand. The girl huffed and stared at the mech before her, crossing her arms while throwing one of her hips out. Overall, it was a very effective pissed-off look. "Quit your whining. You're worse than Sam," a small 'hey' filled the room but the teenager ignored it, "If the vocal setting bothers you so much, let me recalibrate it for you. No need to be a drama queen, you know."

The Camaro nodded. Duh, why hadn't he thought of that.

"Good, now let's hurry up and get this done. Ironhide should be here in a little bit."

…

A few hours passed easily and, then, the sound of tires digging through gravel filled the area outside of the garage. The three, four if you count the mech dead to the world, occupants threw a nervous glance at the sliding garage doors, twitching as each heavy foot step grew closer and closer. Soon, small pebbles pelted the metal doors, meaning Ironhide was standing just outside.

"You in there, kid?"

The yellow mech looked over at his companions, who were presently sitting on the unconscious form of Wheeljack, as if they were hunters posing over a successful kill. Bumblebee had wanted to tell them to get off him, but for some reason he couldn't. He had his own problems at the moment.

"You sure I don't sound like a femme?" whispered 'Bee to his tiny accomplices.

"Kid? That you?" came the Weapons Specialist's voice.

"Yah, it's him Ironhide," called Sam. He wasn't going to answer 'Bee's question … again. They had reset his vocal processor at least three times and he still wasn't convinced that he sounded manly enough. Sam was not going playing the 'are-you-sure-I-don't-sound-like-a-femme' game ever again! God, he was sure he got a migraine from listening to all the different pitches 'Bee had tried. Mikaela was also overjoyed when she heard the front gate open when Ironhide arrived. It meant that she could pick a setting and keep it. She set it to the same setting Ratchet originally had it set on; his original voice.

Light suddenly danced over the garage's innards like an invading army, temporarily blinding the human occupants. The two humans barely had time to act like blind mice when a choking sound came from the new arrival's engine.

"I know you don't like medical procedures, Kid, but did you have to kill Wheeljack?" cried the old mech as he took hurried steps forward, getting on his knees next to the fallen mech. He glared at the two human pigeons on Wheeljack's form. Let's just say both Sam and Mikaela got off in a fricken hurry. With the pigeons out of the way, Ironhide placed his head on the scientist's chest. He sighed when he felt Wheeljack's spark greet his … but for some reason it seemed confused. It was as if Wheeljack's spark was looking for someone else and couldn't find them.

"Never mind, he ain't dead," added Ironhide as he looked up, figuring he'd ask Wheeljack about his spark's strange behavior later. Presently, he couldn't help but grin as he listened to a sigh come from the Bumblebee's engines. The Kid sure had been edgy lately, "What'd you do to him anyway? He has no limbs missing, nor are there any signs of an explosion nearby, so that means you three are responsible for this."

The three beings all exchanged worried glances before stating, "What … makes you say that?

Ironhide got to his feet and threw a glare down at the three. It was his I've-got-the-guns look, but for some reason, none of them spoke up. He sighed. This wasn't his day. "Fine, don't tell meh', just means you'll have to deal with 'the Hatchet.' Come now; grab that tarp so we can put him in my truck bed."

'Bee gave a nervous nod and grabbed the tarp, ready to help with the unconscious scientist, leaving the two humans to what they may. Sam watched for a moment, listening to scratching metal as the Camaro struggled to lift the orange form, before he turned to his girlfriend.

"Mikaela?"

"Yes?"

"You know … whenever any of the guys call Ratchet 'the Hatchet,' I get this visual of him in a Jason Voorhee's hokey mask while holding a transformer sized machete," Sam then looked his girlfriend in the face and asked in a curious tone, "Is that bad?"

The mechanic just raised a brow. Her grand-mom was right … Men are stupid, "Yes, Sam. I do believe that falls under your racket for normal … at least for the male species."

XXX

The road purred beneath his tires, slowly baiting him forward. Ironhide complied greedily, if only to get Wheeljack's dead weight out of his truck bed. He was still kind of surprised by the whole situation. He hadn't really expected that 'Bee to sneak behind Ratchet's back and have a human fix his injuries. Yah, he knew the Camaro's famous phobia, witnessing it on way too many occasions, but this was just downright reckless, and he was positive that 'Bee's recklessness was why Wheeljack was in the state he was in right now.

But why? Where had this secretive paranoid behavior suddenly came from? It wasn't like the young mech. In fact, he had been acting downright strange. It was if he was afraid to be touched by one of his fellow mechs, or even looked at. Something was going on. He could feel it in his spark, which was only supported in its suspicions with the youngling's new, observable, behavior. The young mech thought he hadn't noticed, but Ironhide had. He practically raised the Kid since he was a sparkling. Bumblebee was much more social than this. He liked playing around, he liked dancing circles around his elders, and he used to like being around him. The kid used to listen to his war stories and demand training time, but not anymore. It was as if 'Bee was trying to disappear from existence. No, correction, it was more like the Kid wanted to disappear from the Autobot's existence.

…Something was wrong and it wasn't just the passing of the Allspark. Something was wrong with his little Bumblebee. He needed to talk to the Kid as soon as he dropped Wheeljack's body off to an enraged Ratchet. In fact, it seemed that a spark to spark talk wasn't too far off as he came to a halt outside of the partially built base; he couldn't help but notice the Camaro's sudden shivering.

"Hey, 'Bee? Mind getting the 'dead' guy off me?" Ironhide mused with a chuckle, making fun of the youngling's paranoia in thinking that he had killed his companion. Besides, Ironhide needed to keep the atmosphere light, or 'Bee might run off like he had been doing a lot lately.

The sound of a transformation filled the air, along with one set of human sneakers striking the dry earth. Then, a soft clicking filled the air as the two beings released the snaps that were holding the tarp down during the whole trip and, then, Ironhide's shocks gave a jolt as Wheeljack's weight was removed.

"We gotta go now," whispered 'Bee in a nervous tone. He hadn't even considered what he was going to say to everyone about his repairs, but he knew it wouldn't end well. He had to get out of here and think up a strategic lie. Bumblebee didn't even get a step forward when a hand landed on his shoulder. He quickly looked over his shoulder and couldn't help but notice the look on Ironhide's face … It was the same look he'd give him as a youngling, once he found him hiding in the engine room, or somewhere else in the Ark's underbelly. "Or not."

Ironhide was silent for a moment, just staring at his charge before answering in a calm tone, "Good, because this slagger," he pointed towards the orange mech's unconscious form, "ain't going to carry himself."

The sound of scratching metal on tile soon followed after as student and teacher threw Wheeljack's arms over their shoulder blades. Sam huffed behind them as he started trudging behind them; the hallways in this place seemed to go on forever! Yet, the human didn't even get to walk a few yards when he suddenly came to a hard halt against a solid surface.

"Youch!" yelped Sam as he pulled away, holding his hurt noise. "What the hell? Ironhide, warn me next time you make a sudden stop."

A growl suddenly came from above the human's head and Sam went still, shutting up.

Ironhide glared at the human for a moment. He didn't mind the human, really he didn't, but 'Bee had been using his connection with Sam to retreat from his problems and the rest of the Autobots … He needed to get rid of the bug! "Sam," growled the old mech, noting how the human's heart skipped a beat, "we are a little … short … on security. Go wait by the front entrance and call me if something like a Decepticon stops by."

"What?!" squeaked Sam as an expression crossed his face which resembled a dying goose.

"You heard me," the old mech stated, his engine rumbling.

Sam stared at the black mech for a few frightened seconds before looking up at 'Bee. The small mech's optics were fading in an out and his free hand was twitching. 'Bee was worried and Sam made a promise to protect 'Bee. If that meant he had to take Ironhide on, he'd probably…

Ironhide spoke before Sam could come up with an answer, "Well, good luck with that, kid. Come on 'Bee. I'm sure Ratchet gots a rant all ready for us and everything."

XXX

Sideswipe peaked around the corner of the hallway, his optics gleaming in the partially dark hallway of the base. His engines sighed in relief before he stepped back behind the corner. A clang echoed over the empty hallways.

"Why the Primus did you hit me!" came a growl, which was then followed by another clang, which resulted in Sideswipe being pushed out into the hall.

The red twin laughed, "That's punishment, Sunshine, for breaking the shovels! Now we have to find new ones in order to dig our secret escape route."

Sunstreaker, who had been rather calm, considering that he was covered in mud and dents due to the little tussle he and his brother had been in moments ago, finally snapped. He lunged in his brother's direction, ready to tackle him to the ground, but the red speedster merely did a tuck-dodge and laughed once again at his brother's expense.

"Come on, Sunny! You have to be better than that? What? Lose your ability to fight along with your good looks? There's mud on your helm, by the way," mocked the red mech. He loved taunting his brother. It wasn't that he liked being dented and dinged by his aggressive brother. He did it because Sunstreaker's fits of anger always made his spark thrash out and, for a moment, Sideswipe could feel his brother's very being through their twin bond. It was comforting to know his brother was there. They had been fighting for so long that the brief closeness his spark got from the strengthened emotion reminded him of when they were younger, and small enough to share a berth … when Sunny still cried and Sideswipe was considered the stronger of the two.

The yellow mech's optics became slits, his metallic lip twitched, and then a happy scream came from the red brother as the chase started. Sunny would never admit it to anyone, but he loved these little brawls he had with his brother. He'd forget the war. He'd forget the strange glances he'd get from his fellow Autobots. He'd forget the whispers. He'd forget the true bitterness that seemed to always be stirring below the surface. But, mostly, he'd forget this quivering fear in his spark that, in the next battle, he'd lose his brother, his only purpose for being. His cooling fans quivered for a moment at the thought. There wasn't much known about twins since they were so rare, but he hoped that it was true, that when one passed, the other would too. He could not stay in this plane of existence alone. He refused to.

Suddenly, Sideswipe turned around, grabbing his brother and throwing him against the wall as he covered his mouth to muffle the yelp that escaped Sunny. There was a moment of stillness as Sunny's mind struggled to understand why Sideswipe had just grabbed him like that. But, despite the look Sideswipe had just given him, Sunny started to struggle, making quite a racket.

Sideswipe growled and pinned his brother a little tighter against the wall while whispering over their private channel. " _Shhh! Prowl's down the corridor."_

Sunny stopped struggling and sighed, throwing hot air through his vents, _"I told you he wouldn't leave us alone. He's coming back to check on us. Sides, I am not getting in trouble over your idea … again! So help me –"_

Sideswipe ignored his brother for a moment. No, Sunny was wrong. Prowl would take the shortest route to the brig's location and not the long way. Something was going on ... especially with that posture. He had never seen the enforcer carry his wings so low before and … and was his head bowed? No, this was an imposter! Prowl would never let his guard down like that! Prowl would never …

…

A clang filled the hall as Prowl fell to his knees, and the next thing the two twins knew, soft clicking filled the halls as the enforcer hid his face. He … He was sobbing. Emotionless, cold sparked Prowl was mourning.

Sunstreaker felt more than saw what was going on, as confusion and hurt floated from his brother's side of the bond. He pushed on his bro's shoulder to get free from his brother's grasp and peeked around the corner, dimming his optics so the darkness wouldn't give him away. His spark skipped a beat … He knew that sound. He used to make the same sound when he was a sparkling. It was the sound of misery and loneliness. Before Sideswipe could complain, he grabbed his sibling by his elbow, dragging him around the corner and down the hall. Surprisingly, Sideswipe didn't struggle, but actually made Sunny pick up his pace.

They both silently agreed over their bond. This could not stand! Prowl was not going to suffer alone.

"H-hey, Prowl?" whispered the red mech as he slowly got on one knee, placing a hand on the shivering enforcer's shoulder. The mech gave no indications that he even knew the other two were there. Sunny got down on his knees as well, but was unable to touch the enforcer. Instead he threw his brother another look, urging him to continue; Sunny always considered himself lacking when it came to communication.

Side's tried again, rubbing the shoulder, slightly, in a comforting way, "What's wrong, Prowl? Do-do you want us to call Ratchet?"

All he got were move shivers and a shuddering engine.

Sunny sighed. He could feel the agony from their fellow Autobot just coming off of him in waves. There was only one way to fix this; the same way Sides chased away his fears when they were still sparklings. Before he knew what he was doing, Sunny pulled Prowl's form up slightly, dragging the slightly smaller mech into his chest. He received no protests, so he cradled his superior like a small child, hoping Prowl would calm and stop his clicking. Instead, the enforcer's soft clicks became outright sobs as he buried his head into the crook by Sunny's arm. He then began to shake, so the yellow mech placed a hand on top of his fellow mech's head, trying to still him but, for some reason, the tactician's trembling grew. Sunny looked up, ready to plead to his brother for help. He had never comforted someone like this before, no one except Sides, that is. Was there something else he was supposed to do?

Sunny didn't even have to tilt his head up the whole way when he saw red hands fall forward, encasing both his and Prowl's bodies in an embrace. Sunny smiled slightly as he and his brother shared a soft glance, before he laid his metallic cheek on top of Prowl's helm, while Sideswipe placed his head on the enforcer's exposed shoulder. Both saying nothing; they'd wait until Prowl wished to speak and tell them why his spark was in such a frenzy, or until he'd cried himself into stasis.

They didn't mind waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I better hear some whimpering in the background or at least get a tear for poor Prowl. Also, I want to clear some things up before somebody goes on a rant, I love rants mind you, but I don't want to answer the same question thirty times. So, I'll leave it to personal opinion if there was more to Prowl and Jazz's relationship then being just bond brothers.


	9. Confrontations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huggles to my beta Litahatchee … the poor thing had to re-type the entire chapter just to properly proofread it. So, extra love to her for all the hard work she does.  
> -Speaking on a private comm. link-  
> Bold is Cybertronian

_A dream can be a comfort to a person as they sleep. They trick the mind into believing something that they desperately want is true. In that way, they are both comforting and torturing, because when one awakens ... they realize that it was a dream and as a dream, it was created because there is a great improbability that it will ever happen. This truth is no different to Cybertronians, but the greatest difference is that the more a Transformer relies on their logic systems, the less likely they will ever dream ... some have never dreamed._

_And then there are the mechs that wish that the real world was a dream, so that they can wake, and then their nightmare would be over._

_..._

Prowl sat behind his desk, shifting through data pads in his dim office. The mech tried to keep his wings from twitching as he glared over the top of his data pad at the twins, who were both staring at him with worried looks, staying as close to the door as possible, ready to run on a moment's notice.

"You two do realize that you are not supposed to touch a higher officer without his prior approval," Prowl stated.

The two beings stared at him for a moment, shock and horror on each of their metallic faces. Sideswipe gained the nerve and stuttered, "B-but Prowl, you were shivering and ... we didn't know..."

"I was malfunctioning. In such a case, you do not hold onto someone until they offline; you retrieve a medic," Prowl responded, his voice struggling to keep any hint of emotion, anger or otherwise, from the twins' ears.

"B-but, come on! What would you have done if Sunny was crying in the middle of the hallway?" added the red one, only to quickly jump a few feet back as two sets of glares landed on him, as if trying to extinguish his very spark with the thought of their combined hate.

"I don't cry," growled Sunstreaker, his vents hissing steam at his brother while he simultaneously sent a 'dead Sideswipe' image over their link.

The tactician had to bite his glossa to keep from speaking. He had almost griped the same thing Sunstreaker had. After the taste of spilled energon had depleted in his mouth, Prowl spoke again, careful to use his usual, cold, tone,

"That is not the point, Sideswipe. Now, stop fidgeting while I decide a proper punishment...I would put you in the brig, but since it has no walls, it would only succeed in punishing Sunstreaker, and not you, Sideswipe, with the mud and all."

Sunstreaker would dare not crawl out through all that mud, even if it meant certain freedom, but Sideswipe wouldn't mind getting his paint job dirty in order to crawl free.

The two mechs grumbled under their breath about 'ingrates' and 'cold-sparked bastards,' as if he weren't right before them, but Prowl found himself remaining silent as he pulled the data pad back into his line of sight. He was grateful towards the twins for what they did. He really was...it was just that...that...that...

The mech's deepest innermost thoughts were suddenly invaded when a set of metallic fingers gripped the top of his data pad. Slowly, Prowl brought down the pad, ready to growl at whomever was touching his file, only to halt as a blue light draped itself over his facial features; a glowing blue visor was looking up at him. Prowl found himself unable to speak...not that Jazz ever let him do a lot of talking when the two were together, anyway.

"Come on, Prowlie, give the kids a break," Jazz purred, pulling the data pad from the shocked mech's grip.

The gray mech looked the data-pad over once, before throwing it over his shoulder, where it slammed against the wall, shards of glass hitting the floor in a rhythmic tune.

Prowl's optics widened and he suddenly found himself unable to speak. He couldn't even yell at the saboteur for ruining his data pad...or for dying.

Jazz leaned back in his chair, where the now gone Sunstreaker had been sitting. He tilted his head, a sad look overcoming his face. Slowly, he leaned forward onto Prowl's desk, scattering data pads as he may, until he was mere inches from the other's face, allowing Prowl to see his own reflection in the other's visor. Prowl's fans hitched at his reflection, the sight of a single glowing tear running down his cheek. He didn't know what to make of it. It was impossible, improbable; a Cybertronian couldn't cry.

A grin slowly dragged itself onto Jazz's facial plates, and he place his palm beneath Prowl's chin, his palm open as he waited to catch the tear as if her were catching the first drop of rain before a storm. When the glowing white tear finally did fall into Jazz's open palm, it made a soft chime, like the hum of a silenced bell.

The silver mech smiled up at him, looking away from the glowing pool in his hand, "Come on, Prowl ... don't cry for me. Besides, we don't need you rusting now, do we? You're already a little too uptight."

A soft whine crawled over the dark expanse that was Prowl's office, and the tactician's optic dimmed at the realization that that sound had come from him. His metallic lips trembled for a moment as he struggled for the words, for the phrases, for the numbers that would express something to the being before him. Yet, all he was able to say was, "Jazz...you're dead."

Jazz's visor brightened as if he had just been told a terrible secret, but then the saboteur threw his head back, a laugh escaping him. Yet, the laugh was dead as soon as it had been given life, and Jazz was staring at him again.

"And you're in recharge. Wake up, Prowl," he said.

Prowl wasn't even allowed a second comment as Jazz brought up the hand that was holding the tear in it. He opened it. A light cast itself over Jazz's face as he did so, and Prowl knew it would be the last time he'd ever see Jazz's face again. The saboteur took a human-like breath, blowing a powder-like snow all over the tactician, releasing him from the world of dreams.

...

Prowl felt his fans hitch in a slight panic as all his systems started to come on line. The tactician on-lined his optics as he struggled to remember what had just happened. Yet, when he came online, that seemed to be the least of his problems. He didn't know this ceiling tile; this wasn't his barracks, and why were his systems so sluggish? He had to get up to assess the situation, but, suddenly, voices flowed over his audio sensors. Prowl found himself off-lining his optics and playing dead.

He had no idea why he had just done something so cowardly, but a part of him was whispering that it was his pride.

"Ratchet, why hasn't he come out of stasis? What's wrong with him?"

A huff drifted over the room as Ratchet shifted his feet, crossing his arms over his chest, "Never in all my days did I actually expect words of worry for Prowl's sake to escape you."

"That wasn't an answer," came an almost hissing reply from a certain yellow Lamborghini, his worry seeping through despite his attempt to keep his usual, heartless, tone.

Ratchet threw a sudden glare at the yellow twin while making a grab for a wrench on a nearby berth. The yellow twin's usual facial expression was immediately replaced with one of fear and he took a step nearer to his brother, readying himself to jump behind the other in order to escape. His brother glared at him before turning his attention back towards the medic.

"Come on, Ratch’, what happened out there in the halls? Prowl just doesn't break down into an emotional wreck like that when he feels like it," added Sideswipe as he threw a worried look over towards the still mech on the berth. A subconscious part of him could still feel the tactician's armor shaking against his, demanding for him to go over and hold Prowl's hand in a comforting way until he awoke.

The medic crossed his arms over his chest again, blowing some hot air at the two. "Well, if you two would have brought him to me, or at least called me, I would know."

The two mechs suddenly looked hurt and the brothers threw pleading looks at each other before turning back to Ratchet. The medic felt his spark jerk as their sad looks penetrated him.

"We're sorry, Ratch, but you should have seem him," murmured Sideswipe as he instinctively put one of his hands onto his chest, placing the hand over his spark chamber. "He was on his knees, shaking, soft crying clicks escaping him, as if he was a sparkling that just lost his creators. We didn't know what to do at first, but Sunny went over to him and ...all we could do was comfort him, Ratch. It seemed like the right thing."

Ratchet's usual, outward, stern, nature suddenly disappeared and he couldn't help but look at the twins in shock. Yah, he knew the twins weren't cold-sparked or anything. It was just that they always seemed to keep to themselves with such intimate acts, especially Sunstreaker. It was an interesting development in the yellow twin's psyche and was definitely something to be looked into when it came to the twins. However, that wasn't for today, he'd just stick it in his files for now.

With a smooth motion, Ratchet reached out his hands, placing one on each of the twins' shoulders, squeezing in a comforting way. The two looked like they were about to faint because of the non-forceful way Ratchet had just touched them. Ratchet quickly put on a smile to assure the two that this wasn't a trap to get them to take a check-up or anything like that...Well, everyone did need a check-up, but he'd wait until the medical bay was completely stocked for that.

"It was the right thing," he added in a soft, warm, tone that was more common with Prime's voice than his. "Now, get out of my med bay before I weld you to the wall."

The twins just stared at him for a moment as if their processors were struggling to keep up. They soon made their way towards the exit, Sunstreaker throwing one last, quick, glance at Prowl before he left.

Prowl felt his spark tighten and collapse within itself in shame. He...he had done that? How could have done that? He ... he ... needed to get out of here, just as soon as Ratchet left, that is. He felt that if anyone looked at him and he would see pity in their optics, the truth would slap him in the face; destroying what little mental strength he had collected during his recharge.

The echoing of metal feet quickly fell over Prowl's thoughts and he tried to ignore the urge to stiffen when he suddenly felt the medic looming over him. There was a moment's stillness before the tactician felt a hand land on his chest, and it took all of his self-control not to twitch. Prowl hated being touched, even by medics, which was why he was always referring to his battle computer for the least dangerous of routes, unless it couldn't be helped.

Ratchet stared down at the mech before him, lying there as if he were deactivated. He knew what was wrong with Prowl. He had merely lied to the twins in order to honor Prowl's privacy ... It wasn't something they could understand, after all. They were bonded twins, and, as such, they were born with their bond. They didn't understand what it was like to be alone when one was first created, nor how wonderful it was to become bonded to another, be it brother bonds or a mate ... Both chased away the loneliness of the universe. Prowl had recently lost his comfort and was once again lost in the universe. A part of Ratchet doubted that Prowl had any other bonds.

A soft gust of hot air escaped the medic as the thought of what he was about to perform overcame him, emotionally, for a moment. There were many things that a medic hated seeing. The top of that list was the death of a patient. Another one was an emotionally distressed mech or femme after a bonded had died. He had comforted too many in his time, whether that had been a lost mate, a brother, or even the rare _true_ brother. He had comforted them all as he put up a permanent spark block, so the remaining being's spark wouldn't exhaust itself as it continuously called out for the other, which was no longer there.

Prowl was no different in this case. It was just something that had to be done.

The medic put a hand on the tactician's shoulder, placing some weight on it. The action hadn't been meant to restrain the mech in case he came out of stasis. Instead, it was an action that was meant to comfort the spark, to tell the other being, subconsciously, that he wasn't alone. Ratchet allowed his hand to roam over the cruiser's chassis. Then, with the ease of a millennium-old medic, he pressed his fingers beneath the plating, which popped the chassis. A soft, echoing, light filled the room, and Ratchet found his fans pulling in a large amount of air, as if her were taking a breath. He hated doing this. Each time was like a new thorn in his spark...

With almost weightless grace, Ratchet took a step to the side so he could get a better look at the pulsing orb in Prowl's chest. The medic watched in sad defiance as it pulsed up at him, but it wasn't the normal way a healthy spark was supposed to pulse. When the spark expanded, calling out through the broken bond, it stayed that way, shivering from the effort, pressing against its glass prison until it was forced to collapse downward in exhaustion.

Ratchet was still for a moment. It was as if he was saying goodbye to Jazz all over again. He reached his hand down, ready to run his hand over the spark to comfort it. He nearly jumped out of his armor when a hand suddenly lashed up and grabbed him by the wrist. A metallic whine filled the room as blue optics landed on him, begging. The medic didn't miss a beat; he had done this so many times that he knew, instinctively, how to react.

Without hesitating, he pulled Prowl partially into his chest, caressing the back of his helm. Prowl started clicking and sobbing as his arms struggled to grasp Ratchet. The medic made no attempt to stop him as he clawed into his armor, as if he'd fall away from existence if he didn't have Ratchet there to grasp onto. After a few seconds of trembling and sobbing, Prowl stopped shaking and just held onto the medic.

"It's okay, Prowl. I know you're in pain ... Now, just hold onto me. Cry, sob, and scream all you want. Soon your spark will stop suffering." Ratchet caressed his helm and offered a comforting smile down at him. Prowl merely looked up at him, his optics so dim that they didn't seem to be on.

"I don't want to forget ... I d-don't want to forget Jazz," Prowl whispered, as if he were a sparkling begging for Primus in the dark.

"And you won't," murmured the medic, as he reached his hand back down towards the SHU casing. "This will only hurt for a moment, and then the connection will die."

A soft, choking, scream echoed over the med bay as Prowl arched against the medic, his fingers bringing dents to where he was holding on to Ratchet. The cry then turned into a near choke and Prowl slumped down, merely shivering as the light in his chest started a rhythmic pace. Ratchet merely closed the mech's chassis and then allowed Prowl to slump against him, fans panting and soft whimpering clicks escaping his vocals.

"It's okay, it's alright," Ratchet muttered as he petted Prowl's helm, answering his soft, mournful, clicks with louder and much calmer ones, as if he were comforting a sparkling. After a few moments, Prowl stopped shaking, but his soft noises continued and Ratchet knew that they would for the rest of the day ... maybe even the rest of the human week. The soft clicking was the last resort of the spark to call out to its lost bonded once a medic blocked the bond.

And, so, the medic did his duty for the next hour. He comforted his patient. It didn't matter if it was in a physical or psychological way; it was his duty.

Prowl shivered against the medic, his mind wondering in and out. He had to get rid of this ache that now resided in his spark. True, it was nowhere near as painful as that irregular pulsing. It was just that, every time he thought of that fast-witted mech, his spark would pulse in the now broken connection. He had known Jazz for almost as long as he could remember, so he could not turn to his memories for comfort. He had to distract himself from both his memories and his wants...He needed to work. He needed to work! It would drown his thoughts and worries, as well as his memories. He had to get moving and do something ... He'd forget.

Now, if only Ratchet would let him go...

Ratchet knew broken bonds, especially for someone as closed off as Prowl, could be a painful thing, even crippling. So, that was why, above all, mechs in Prowl's case were supposed to be in the company of a medic, for, at least, a human week's time...or, he might try to offline himself to end the 'ache.' That was all anyone called it. It was too torturous to want to think of it any longer, to give it more than one simple word for a title.

A slightly louder chirp escaped Prowl and Ratchet was just about to put him into a forced recharge to calm him down, when the doors of the med bay sprang open. Prowl's calm state dispersed as he desperately pushed away from the medic in order to sit up. Ratchet didn't force him back down. Instead, he threw an angry gaze in the door's direction, ready to throw the nearest thing he could find at the twins.

His words were quickly drowned in his vocalizer as he stared at the massacre before him. "W-what happened?!"

A nervous laugh escaped Ironhide as he looked at the shocked medic. It wasn't every day that something caught Ratchet off guard. He was probably shocked, not because it was Wheeljack in question, but because he wasn't missing any limbs. The Weapons Specialist swallowed, as the shocked look quickly changed to one of anger. This wasn't going to end well, especially when the Hatchet found out that 'Bee let the humans dissect him.

"Hey, Ratchet. Well, it seems old 'Jack had a slight accident," murmured the truck, praying to Primus that the medic would be too preoccupied with Wheeljack to bother with he and 'Bee. He needed to talk to the youngling. Something was seriously wrong here and he was going to fix it...if he could.

"I can see that, Ironhide," growled the CMO as he looked over the two of them. He sighed; he really didn't have time for this. He had to take care of Prowl right now, not put up with a frightened little sparkling and a gun-waving lunatic. Oh well, at least they weren't the twins.

"Well, what happened?" Ratchet asked, resigned.

Bumblebee's optics suddenly widened and he threw a worried look at Ironhide; he couldn't tell Ratchet the truth!

"And you," Bumblebee nearly fell over as Ratchet appeared above him, glare apparent, "You missed your appointment and I remember clearly enough what Prime said if that were to happen."

The young mech's wings twitched and he felt his spark pulse painfully beneath his chassis. He didn't want to be found out this way, strapped down to the table, helpless and unable to get away...open. A soft whimper nearly escaped the mech and he tried to take a step back, only to hear a soft clang as he ran into something. The mech tightened as he felt heavy fingers land on his shoulders. It was official now; he was trapped.

"Ratchet, what's going on here?" came Optimus's calm voice, as he threw a look at the unconscious form between Bumblebee and Ironhide, resisting the urge to worry when he caught a shiver running through 'Bee's shoulders. Now, that was odd...The young scout had never acted so nervous or twitchy under his touch. Not even Red Alert acted so twitchy when he accidentally touched him. What was they new reaction? He had always touched the young scout in, likewise, comforting manners, yet 'Bee never reacted so negatively. A huff came from the medic and Prime suddenly realized what the youngling must be nervous about ... The Hatchet.

"I'm not sure Prime," growled Ratchet as he stared at the youngling, Optimus following his gaze.

"Optimus?" The other four occupants nearly jumped when another voice invaded their conversation. 'Bee's engines sighed in relief as the heat was taken off of him.

The Autobot leader quickly turned his attentions to the innards of the medical bay, his optics dimming, slightly, as he watched Prowl slide off of a berth, landing with an echo on the metal tiling. The tactician turned his gaze to the group, his hand sliding off of his chest as he stood up straight, trying to hide any outward appearance of what he had just endured. Then, with the grace that can only come from a thousand years of practice, Prowl walked up to the small group, saluting Prime and nodding to all the others except for Ratchet...He was too terrified to look him in the optic. For now, he could just ignore the truth and pretend that it never happened. True, that was highly illogical, but he just couldn't deal with the ache right now.

"Hello sir, please forgive me for my earlier behavior during our debriefing. The landing took more out of me than I thought."

Optimus looked down at the tactician for a moment, knowing full well that that wasn't the reason for his behavior. He threw the briefest of glances at his medic; the look in the medic's optics was all he needed to know.

"Do not dwell on it Prowl, it was not an issue at the moment, but I really think you should lie..."

"Speaking of issues," Prowl tried to ignore the shocked look from Ironhide and the others. No on interrupted Prime when he was speaking, and especially not 'straight lace' Prowl, but he had to stop the ache ... He needed to work, "when going over the information that I had received in the de-briefing, I couldn't help but notice that Barricade seems to be running rampant in the streets of Mission City. A Decepticon does not just lie down and hide. He's up to something, Prime, and my battle computer is having difficulties concluding what that could be, which is why we need to detain him immediately. We have efficient numbers at the moment," he looked at Ironhide and Bumblebee knowingly. He knew the two of them were usually at their charges' residences...Well, he did now...And now that they were standing right here, "With the cover of dusk, we'll be able to search efficiently without fear of being seen...like last time." Prowl threw a look at Ironhide, having learned about the tourist situation.

Prime stared at him for a moment, uncertain of what to do. Prowl couldn't be good to go so quickly. He needed rest, didn't he? Luckily for Prime, his comm. link blipped to life.

\- No! Prime, you can't allow him to leave. I sealed off the broken bond not more than an hour ago. He needs rest! - came Ratchet, impatiently.

"Are you sure it cannot wait?" continued Optimus without skipping a beat. He didn't want to offend Prowl by having him know that they were talking about him through their comm. link. Plus, Prowl's battle computer had always been reliable. If he said it was important ... then it was.

"No, it cannot. Just give the order, Sir, and I'll gather the men together in proper parties," continued Prowl. He tried to keep the nervous tone out of his vocals. He knew that Prime and Ratchet were communicating over their comm. link about him this very moment. When it came straight down to it, Prime always looked out for the health of his men, and if Ratchet said he wasn't going ... then he probably wouldn't be going.

\- No, Prime. You and I both know that, sometimes, when desperate and the ache has just set in, some mechs will do drastic things to make it stop to be with the one they lost. We can't risk leaving Prowl alone. -

\- But you and I both know Prowl better than that. -

\- He isn't in the right state of mind right now. Please, at least give me a day or two with him. -

"Prime? Your orders?" Prowl tried not to tremble as both Prime and Ratchet looked at him. He couldn't take a 'no' right now! He just couldn't...He just had to work. Was that too much to ask?

"Gather the men, we'll be leaving shortly," Prime stated in an even tone, ignoring the soft growl that had just escaped his medic's engine.

\- I'm not undermining your medical advice, Ratchet, but Prowl is right...We've ignored Barricade for too long. I promise, on my honor, that I will personally make sure Prowl is not left alone. In the mean time, it seems 'Bee is all ready for you. -

A growl escaped the CMO's engine, again, as he turned to look upon the young scout. Bumblebee nearly fainted right then and there.

"Well, youngling, it seems to me that while they are getting ready to play a glorified game of hide and seek, you will be getting repairs," Ratchet said to Bumblebee. "Now, get on the table. Ironhide, will you please put Wheeljack on a berth and plug him into the recharge berth. My scans say he's stable, but his systems seem energy deprived. He might have fried a few circuits as well, but only superficial damage."

Bumblebee stood there, frozen. Usually, he'd run, but all the exits seemed to be blocked at the moment. In fact, Optimus gave him a nudge forward, taking Wheeljack's arm, so he and Ironhide could put him down on a different berth. The young mech felt himself panic inside as he watched Ironhide walk to the other side of the med bay, leaving the youngling wide open. His head twitching, he looked back up at Ratchet. He wasn't even allowed a head shaking of disapproval when he felt the medic grab onto one of his door wings, the way a human parent would grab onto their child's ear. Then, when they got to a berth, the medic let go and looked at the camaro, expecting him to get on the table, but when 'Bee's feet got ready to make a dash, Ratchet grabbed the smaller mech by his armpits and placed him on the metal berth, as if he were a naughty sparkling.

Bumblebee didn't even have time to squirm when Ratchet tightened one hand on his throat, lifting his chin up with his thumb, while his other hand focused on his vocal processor as he slid the plating to the side. The little mech nearly yelped when he felt the medic's fingers tighten violently, scratching his paint and making him whimper in pain. Then, without even the forewarning of a growl, the Hatchet had grabbed him by his shoulders, glaring at him with a combination of fear and pure rage.

"Bumblebee! Did you do your own repairs? BEE!"

The small mech tightened up, fear draping his features as the medic shook him. He was petrified, unable to speak, even though he now had a voice. Some mechs would call that irony, but 'Bee would call it something else...hate. Primus hated him. He wasn't special or blessed for being a femme. It was just Primus's way of marking him as a freak, a glorified way of telling the universe that he hated this youngling of his and that 'Bee was cursed. Primus wanted this youngling to suffer, to die a painful death as nothing more than a tool.

"BEE!" Ratchet felt his spark pulsing. How could the youngling to this to himself? If he had done something wrong, he could have permanently off-lined himself, or even damaged his spark.

Primus ... what kind of medic was he? He was supposed to take care of his fellow mechs, supposed to comfort them ... not make them so petrified of him that they would rather take a laser scalpel to themselves than allow him to touch them.

"Tell me, 'Bee, why'd you do it to yourself?!" Ratchet yelled.

"Ratchet ... please keep it down, some of us are in pain here, and your yelling isn't helping," came a grumble from the other side of the room.

The medic turned his head, ready to hiss at the being that had just interrupted him, but stilled for a moment as he watched Wheeljack slowly sit up in his berth, holding his head. Well, that was fast.

"Besides, how is he supposed to talk if you're scaring the circuits out of him, Ratchet?" added Wheeljack as he stared at his companion.

Wheeljack had known the medic for a long time, but it was a rarity to see him this worked up. Yah, he had seen the Hatchet get angry, but this wasn't anger. Ratchet was ashamed. Ashamed and afraid that he wasn't good enough, that all his years of training and field work meant nothing, and that his patients were still going to die on him. He was scared that he had just killed Bumblebee.

Wheeljack just didn't get Ratchet, sometimes, despite all that they had been through together.

"Now, calm down. The youngling didn't cut into himself; the human female did. 'Mikaela' was her designation, I believe," Wheeljack murmured as he shivered. Damn, what had happened to his systems, his spark chamber, to be exact? It was pulsing strangely, like it was trying to tell him something. Primus, what was going on with him? It wasn't a virus, was it? Had he gotten a virus from the kid? Was that what the heat pouring off of 'Bee was from? A virus? Great...

A groan escaped the orange mech as he lied down once again, paying little attention to the whimper that escaped the camaro, nor the betrayed look that came over the medic. In fact, a heavy silence gripped the bay, as everyone looked at Ratchet, who looked frozen in his step, his hand slowly sliding off of the scout's shoulder. Slowly, he looked around from face to face in the medical bay, his spark heavy with doubt and shame.

He was a good medic, wasn't he? Hadn't he always made sure to bring them back from the brink, as well as patching small scrapes and dings? Hadn't he had his hands in each of their chest before, nearly holding their spark casings in his hands as he willed them to hang on, their energon pooling through his fingers? Hadn't he stood by each of their sides as they mourned fallen soldiers and friends? Hadn't he proved his resourcefulness? Hadn't he proven to them that he was a good medic and that he deserved their respect?!

He was a good medic...wasn't he?

Ratchet's optics dimmed as he felt his hands become fists. He wanted to yell and have a hissy fit, throw his wrench and tell everyone to scram, but what would be the point ... Apparently, his words were meaningless. First, Prime ignores his pleas to leave Prowl in the bay, and now Bumblebee is so disapproving of him and his skills...that he allowed a mere human to play life and death with his innards.

"Ratchet?" came a soft murmur from Wheeljack, who was now sitting up with his feet hanging over the edge of his berth, he head still being clutched by his un-crippled hand.

The medic couldn't look him in the eye. For the first time, perhaps in his whole life as a medic, he was ashamed to be one. The CMO made his hands into fists once more and then looked up at everyone in the room.

His engine whined softly, "Please excuse me. The medical bay is only meant for injured and medical support...and, apparently, I am neither."

The medic then exited the room, ignoring the looks that followed him. He knew it was an insult to medics everywhere for a medic to abandon his patients and med bay, but he didn't feel like he deserved to be called a medic if his patients and commander didn't even listen to him. How was he supposed to do his job is everything he said was meaningless...that he was meaningless?

He deserved better than this! He might have been the Hatchet, but that didn't mean he cut through all insults. This one stuck and it would not be forgotten easily.

Optimus merely sighed as Ratchet disappeared out of the room, pinching the rim of his nose with his head thrown back. Prowl's wings twitched in annoyance as he started marking off offences, but he knew far too well that he would have none of it. Wheeljack, he just laid there, feeling a migraine coming on; this would not end well. 'Bee felt sick with himself. The twins were confused, as they trudged into the medical bay. They had just found an organic outside, but that seemed meaningless, now, after Ratchet had plowed past them in the hallway without even glaring at them. Sam, well, he felt nausea and victimized after the terrible two had chased him around the base like a mouse, poking him once they caught him, as if he were a toy. Finally, the red one carried him into the base like he was an injured bird.

And then there was Ironhide, who merely shifted, "Well, we got off easier than I thought...but, I have a feeling this isn't over yet."

"You have no idea," grumbled Wheeljack as he threw his wrist over his optics. He really didn't want to see the world. This would not end easily, or well, at all.

XXX

Silence rained down on the asphalt as the small group traveled down the highway. Not in a fast, impatient, way, not even the twins with their speedster skin were trucking it. Everyone just lazily trudged behind traffic, allowing vehicles to weave in and around them. They were all thinking. There was no doubt about that in Bumblebee's mind, and so was she. She was thinking about when she had frozen up and fallen on top of Ratchet; his spark whispering softly up at hers. Then there was Wheeljack and how warm he was as he held her, his spark answering softly to hers in the weak connection that had been established. Then, there were Optimus's hands, so large they seemed whenever he'd placed them on her shoulders, mere inches from her sensitive wings. There were other mechs she didn't even know the names of, like the fliers, which were something to behold, especially when they would be scrubbing each other down in the wash racks. There were others, also...Hot Rod and that cheeky smile of his. There were so many with shinny chassis and scanning optics, but none of them could compare to the aft on Sunstreaker...who shared everything with his brother.

The little car jumped out of his thoughts when a horn blasted his way, he barely dodged a four by four as it stormed past him. What the Pit had he just been thinking? That was wrong and gross in so many ways...Was this what it was like for humans to be horny? Gah, he hated his body. Was he going to start fantasizing about Ironhide next?

\- Bumblebee? -

The sound of squealing tires filled the highway as the camaro swerved. He then noticed that Ironhide was right next to him. He slammed, slightly, on his brakes, which, of course, caused all the mechs behind him to suddenly dodge, ignoring being hit as they all weaved in and around other vehicles as if they were in a moving maze.

" **Primus, 'Bee,”** grumbled Ironhide as he threw a scan over the youngling, fearing he had blown a tire or something; no, he seemed to be alright, except for some minor overheating, " **what was that about?"**

**"S-sorry,"** murmured the scout, as Optimus and the others started to pull up around him, crowding out normal traffic once everyone started swerving and swearing, " **I was just thinking and lost myself for a moment."**

**"Think less, then,"** hissed Sunstreaker as he drove up next to the camaro on the opposite side of Ironhide, Sideswipe at his flank, " **You nearly scratched my paint!"**

The younger mech felt his insides trembles as he listened to the anger in the front-liner's vocals. Primus, why had he been thinking that Sunstreaker was hot again? Suddenly, the yellow terror and his brother swerved in front of him and the others with the scream of tires, his bumper glinting in the sunlight. Oh, that was why? Primus, kill him now if he started to develop an aft obsession.

\- What's going on, kid? - murmured Ironhide over a private link as he watched Prowl pull closer to Optimus's side, probably discussing the groups that they were to separate in.

\- Like I said, nothing, just thinking. - 'Bee knew what was coming; he could feel it creeping up on him since the larger mech had halted him when he had originally wanted to leave the base, earlier. He really should have seen this coming, though, considering Ironhide had practically raised him; he was bound to notice his nervousness.

\- 'Bee ... we both know better than that.-

A moment of silence pulled down over the road, and 'Bee couldn't help but notice that the others were already getting farther and farther away from them. He couldn't confront this right now. He knew he'd break down into a sobbing mess if Ironhide poked at the right nerves.

\- Now's not really a good time, 'Hide. Besides, we are falling behind. -

\- That bad, huh? And don't worry about them, Prowl already informed me that we are the search the west side of the warehouse district. - added Ironhide as the streetlight above glinted softly off of the finish on his paint job. - I'm sorry, kid, for not noticing sooner. This has been botherin' you for a long time, hasn't it? -

\- It's not important. I've lived with it this long.-

The youngling nearly whimpered when he noticed his slip, yet, for some reason, he wanted to tell the older mech everything that hurt inside. He wanted Ironhide to cradle him, like he used to when he was younger. He hated his body. He couldn't touch, bond, interface, or have any relationship before the AllSpark was destroyed. That was bad enough, but it was hell now. He could never have a decent relationship of any type without fear of discovery...He'd either die alone, or as a tool.

Ironhide felt his internals tighten in rage, not at Bumblebee, but at himself. He was the kid's caretaker! It was his job to comfort him and raise him, yet the youngling just basically told him that he had been a bad caretaker. He had ignored the most important thing...Bumblebee's spark. 'Bee hadn't received the comfort he needed. True, he had comforted 'Bee when he would wake from recharge, frightened as Pit, but he was just comforting the symptoms and not the reason. Tonight, he was going to find out what had been haunting his youngling's spark, if it was the last thing he did.

\- How long? - murmured the older mech in an almost cold tone as they drew deeper into the shadows of the city, streetlights growing farther and farther apart.

The younger mech tightened, feeling his engine groan in worry. Ironhide had caught on. Primus!

-Like I said, it's not important.- Bumblebee answered.

\- Yes, it is!- growled the older mech, his frustration very evident.

\- No, it's not! I don't want to talk about it! - cried the younger Cybertronian over the comm. link like a spoiled child.

Yah, he knew it was childish, but being alone in Ironhide's presence always made him feel young...and safe. Yet, that safety net was suddenly gone as soon as Ironhide slammed on his brakes, his engine rumbling in an angry manner, and then he transformed.

Bumblebee was still for a moment as he watched the black mech tower over his car mode like a demon from the Pit, a ghostly blue light dancing over his features from his one humming cannon and raging optics.

" **Transform...now,”** came a slow hiss from the older mech. He'd rather not do this, but he had to put his foot down.

The yellow sports car was still for a moment, his processor trying to discern what was going through the Weapons Specialist's head...and if he'd live through it. After a short debate, he decided it was best to do as Ironhide said...Those cannons had range. So, with the chime of shifting metal, the youngling stood before the black mech in the silent shadows of an old warehouse. He was unable to look Ironhide in the optics.

"Bumblebee, I will only ask one more time...What have you been hiding and for how long?"

'Bee's optics were still on the ground as he watched an old Dixie cup roll against the side of the building with the help of a faint night wind, "Does it really matter? I've dealt with it this long and it has never affected me. I can deal with it."

A loud clang filled the warehouse district and the next thing 'Bee knew, a sharp pain ran down from the sensory lines in his face. His feet nearly slid from under him as he struggled not to lose his balance. The small mech quickly regained his balance, placing a shaking hand over his, now, dented cheek, feeling energon run down from his, now, cracked optic. Ironhide had punched him...He had never hit him before, not even when they were training had her really hit him like that.

"You...you hit me," whimpered 'Bee as he drifted away from the other, his fee coming to a stop as he back hit the wall of a warehouse. "Why?"

Ironhide didn't drop an inch as he stood tall and straight, putting on the face of a higher officer instead of a caretaker, "Bumblebee, you do realize that I can throw you in the brig for lying to me, right?"

"W-what?" murmured the smaller mech as he tried to get as far from the other as possible, stressing his door wings as he pressed his back flat against the wall. "I didn't lie to you."

"Yes, you did!" growled the older mech as he took a stop closer, glaring down at the smaller being as if her were a bug to crush, "You said that you could deal with it. Well, it seems to me that you can't. Ever since the AllSpark was destroyed, you've been unable to deal."

There was a moment of silence as 'Bee looked away in shame, and that was all he needed to do. Ironhide let his stature return to a calmer stance as he looked down at the youngling, "What is it that you are unable to deal with, kid?"

'Bee felt sick, and would have liked nothing better than to have found a nice, dark, place to curl up into and die, but fate was a cruel mistress in that way. She'd kill you when you'd have a life and a future, while the suffering had to drag on in a lifetime of hell. It was enough to make a grown mech cry...and 'Bee wasn't far from it. In fact, that sounded like a good plan to him.

With a loud thud, 'Bee landed on his aft, covering his face with his hands as he started to click like a crying sparkling. Ironhide stared for a moment, transfixed, his mind struggling to discern what to do next. It was fairly obvious that he had broken through some kind of mental wall and his next move would decide if the youngling would break down to him, or break away from him.

With a groan of old joints, the Weapons Specialist leaned on one knee, placing one hand on the youngling's shoulder. He ignored the fact that 'Bee twitched at his touch and spoke softly, "Come on, kid. I know you think that I'll be angry, or that I won't understand, but ya' know better than that."

He rubbed at the youngling's shoulder, clicking back to his youngling's crying in a caring way, "Come on, kid. I need ya' to talk to me. What's wrong?"

A few soft clicks escaped him as his body started to tremble. He wanted to tell Ironhide...He wanted to scream the truth to him and make the agony stop, but he couldn't. He couldn't carry sparklings, feeling them worm about in his systems, nor could he stand the indignity of having dozens of lovers and not love one of them. Yet, he still wanted Ironhide. He wanted to confide in him and have him make it all better, just like he used to when 'Bee was younger.

"Kid?"

Bumblebee felt his spark jolt...He'd lose 'Hide if he didn't say anything, or he might lose his freedom. Either way, he lost his happiness. The small mech trembled, wishing that he hadn't fixed his vocals as he spoke,

"I-I'm scared 'Hide...so very scared."

Ironhide tightened, every gear screaming as his scanners gripped the area, searching and ready to destroy what had scared his Bumblebee, but there was nothing. The large mech got on both of his knees and drew closer to his charge. He started stroking the side of his helm.

"What are you scared of? Is it the war? Or dying? I thought we had this talk long ago, youngling. Old 'Hide would die first, before he would let a Decepti-creep kill ya'," murmured the mech as he gripped one of 'Bee's wrists, trying to see the youngling's optics, to read his emotions and see what damage he had done damaged wise.

A soft tremble shook the smaller mech's body...That was a talk that was written into his hardware. He'd never forget it; never would he forget the day Ironhide taught him the legend of life and death. That memory tore itself deeply into him, and he felt his spark shudder as he recalled the horror of that knowledge. The humans had a saying for it, "Ignorance is bliss." Yet, they also said, "the truth will set you free." How was it that humans could exists so easily with so many true untruths?

The small mech felt himself lung forward as he wrapped his arms around his caretaker's waist, burying his head into Ironhide's shoulder, "I-I know Ironhide ... I'm not afraid of the Decepticons killing me."

The large mech was confused by this statement, but ignored the confusion as he struggled to keep his balance with all the new weight leaning against him. He patted the back of the youngling's helm as he struggled to understand, "Then, what are you scared of?"

'Bee let the silence hang for a moment, his engine trying to sing in tune with Ironhide's.

"Me," 'Bee whispered, looking up, one optic dim and cracked as a small trickle of energon ran down his cheek, "I hate me."

With a small scraping sound, Ironhide ran his metallic finger over 'Bee's cheek, removing the energon from the youngling's face. He was definitely confused now. Maybe he didn't understand the kid as much as he thought he did. Yet, it could just be teenager angst. After all, Cliffjumper had gone through the same thing ... thus his name. Nobody would let him live it down.

Ironhide doubted that Bumblebee's problem was youngling angst, though. It seemed far too deep and sore for that, "Why, kid? Tell old Ironhide and I'll do everything in my power to make it all better."

A whining sound escaped the camaro's engine, "You can't make this better ... No one can."

A soft smile formed on Ironhide's facial plates as he tried to reassure the younger Autobot, "Why's that?"

'Bee looked up at him, optics shining as if Ironhide had just asked him what the meaning of life was. It was a frightening look to behold. It was filled with so much grief, fear, hatred, loss, and despair. There was a lot hidden in the words he was about to speak, and Ironhide was going to listen ... even if he didn't like the answer.

"I'm...a...a...f-femme."

A look of shock suddenly filled Ironhide's optics and 'Bee found himself catching his glossa in fear. Ironhide was disgusted by him, wasn't he? Was he...

A small squeak escaped the femme as Ironhide threw his mass over her in a protective ball.

Bumblebee felt his spark ache ... He was going to be taken, wasn't he? By his own teacher, no less, yet, no erotic touching followed. Instead, there was a loud echoing explosion and a scream from Ironhide as a missile burrowed itself into his back.

The small femme's optics brightened as energon started to pool down his face ... Ironhide has just been shot, protecting her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yah, yah. I know, evil cliffhanger.


	10. Wounds of a Warrior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-ed by Litahatchee. Man, she was fast with this chapter!

Ironhide!” cried the young mech as he felt energon run down his chassis while his scanners danced over every warehouse in a panic. It had to be Barricade; it just had to! That slagger would pay. Yet, despite the effort of his scanner, he didn’t see the black ‘Con down any of the joining alleys. So, where had it come from?

The small mech didn’t have to wait long when another shot slammed past him, nearly taking the left vent on his head off. The small mech suddenly had mixed feelings about this … Well, at least he knew the mech that was attacking him was sniping, making him far enough away that he hadn’t heard her confession, but that left him with larger problems … like the 'not getting shot while protecting Ironhide’ issue.

There was some irony in that fact, somehow. Hadn’t she told the older mech her secret so he could protect her? Well, now wasn’t the time to dwell on karma and all the great pains of the universe. He had to get Ironhide out of range, and away from who, or whatever, was shooting at them. By the angle, it looked like a ground mech, on one of the higher surrounding buildings, was playing sniper.

“Prime!” cried the young femme-in-hiding over the Comm. link, “This is an emergency! Ironhide is down and the enemy is advancing, request immediate backup!”

“Calm down, Bumblebee,” answered Prime’s voice, as cool and calm as all the battles before, “Now, send us your current location.”

Bumblebee quickly did as he was told, his optics fading for a moment.

“Good, we’ll be there in a breem. Now, how badly is Ironhide damaged?” came his voice once more, calming the femme's racing pump.

Yet, that calm which came with Prime’s voice quickly dispersed as a shot shattered the wall above ‘Bee’s head, sending bits of rock in his direction. The small mech grunted as he turned Ironhide over, shuddering as he put his hand over the gaping hole near his shoulder, energon oozing between his fingers as he tried to stop some of the flow.

“It’s … bad, Optimus. It’s just one shot, though, in the higher chest region, away from the spark. So, I don’t think he’ll deactivate, but he needs a medic.”

Another shot echoed though the area and the small mech cried out in pain as his left arm was winged, ripping off some armor with a spray of energon. The small mech decided he had to move! It didn’t matter if he stressed his engine or his joints. He had to get ‘Hide out of here! With a grunt, the small femme began to tug on the older being by his arm pits, Ironhide’s head lolling to the side.

“Come on, Ironhide,” cried the small mech as she felt her joints strain and groan, but with one final cry, Bumblebee fell backwards, pulling the larger mech around the corner, and into cover, just as another shot destroyed the concrete where they had just been.

‘Bee’s engine stopped the horrible choking noise that it had just been making as he dropped the larger mech, falling on his knees beside him. Then, with the little medical knowledge he had, Bumblebee started to weld lines shut. Yet, the little mech didn’t get very far when he noticed that the shooting had stopped. Now, that wasn’t unusual … it was just that he had a bigger problem now: he had no idea where the shooter was. At least when the assailant was shooting, he had an idea of where the fragger was. Now he was even more vulnerable, because the fragger could be sneaking up on him.

The small mech took her hands away from the unconscious being’s chest, trying to ignore the feel of drying energon between his fingers and within his joints. All the repairs in the world were meaningless if he couldn’t dissuade this attacker. There was a warm hum and a sudden light threw itself over the alley in a daring manner. The youngling’s arm had transformed into a gun, a glint of determination in his optics. Slowly, the small mech threw his back against the wall and slowly made his way back to the mouth of the alley that they had just exited. His head slowly slid out of the alley, ready to throw a quick glance up at the roofs, in order to find the perp's current location.

He didn’t even get that far.

A heavy, almost snickering, whine of weapon’s charge filled the youngling’s audios. Slowly, ‘Bee turned his head, his optics brightening as he looked up into the barrel of a rather large gun.

“Well, well, well. Look what I’ve found … A little bug,” growled the mech from behind the gun, his face hidden by the glowing of the gun.

‘Bee might not have known the form, being that it was some type of ground vehicle, judging by the tires that he could see at the being's ankles, but this was anyone but Barricade. He knew that scratchy voice anywhere. It was, “Starscream … I see you got your wings clipped.”

The Decepticon’s grin quickly faded as he lowered the gun so ‘Bee could see his face. Then, suddenly, the yellow Camaro fell against the wall as the gun was slammed into his chest, tripping him. Before ‘Bee could properly react, the once flier pinned him against the wall, getting his fangs near the younglings face as he leaned down.

“Only momentarily, mind you. I don’t know how you groundlings can stand being on the ground all the time, but I will admit; it’s easier to hide on this filthy planet with my belly dragging in the grime than the sky. Besides, my prey is closer to the ground … easier to find,” slurred the larger mech as he pulled ‘Bee to his feet so he could pin his smaller body against the wall with his own chassis.

The small mech twitched. He hadn’t twitched because he felt the gun being pushed against his head, nor was it the smell of having Starscream’s mouth so close to his face. It was that Screamer’s chassis was rubbing against him; his spark beating against hers with only a few thin layers of metal separating her untouched spark from that darkened thing carried in the flier’s chest. The thought was enough to make the youngling wish she had the ability to gag. She didn’t even want to think of the feeling of a Decepticon thrusting into her … but ‘Bee had no doubt that Starscream would kill him before bothering to look inside his chassis.

“I’m not a simple turbo rat that you can track down,” hissed the smaller mech, trying to ignore the fear that was welling up inside him like a bubble ready to pop.

A soft chuckle escaped the ‘Con, “Who said I was looking for you? In fact, you’re in my way to becoming the new leader of the Decepticons.”

The yellow being gave him a confused look, but got no answer in reply as the larger mech dug his claws into his shoulder, which had been revealed by the cannon blast. A screech was all that was allowed the youngling before he was thrown down to the ground, the asphalt ripping up his paint job as he nearly slid into Ironhide. Yet, before Starscream had the chance to step on his back and crush him, the youngling twisted over and grabbed the larger mech by his ankle, twisting it so the ‘Con screamed out, losing his balance.

With the whirl of his cannons, Bumblebee readied them to shoot and take off Starscream’s head. Unfortunately for ‘Bee, there was nothing. All he could hear was the sound of a dying cannon, joined with the electric hum of jumping sparks out of his shoulder. The youngling tightened as he looked from his cannon down to the grin on Starscream’s face as the ‘Con slowly rose to his feet, like a predator eyeing its next meal. The slagger had damaged the main energy converter for his cannon, which was located in his shoulder. The small mech stumbled backwards towards Ironhide’s form. Now, part of him was regretting the fact that he didn’t take his caretaker's offer of getting him an extra cannon or arm blade. Oh, how he wished that he would have listened to Ironhide more often.

Starscream had fully gotten to his feet, a look of satisfaction on his face, “Poor little thing, it seems you’ve entered a most dire situation. What will you do? Will you stay still like a good Autobot as I tear you from limb from limb? … Or, will you abandon your friend, and let me deactivate him while you run away?”

The yellow mech stood there for a moment, fear and dread mixed with a feeling of hatred filling his spark. He’d rather die than abandon Ironhide. She’d rather DIE with honor than on her back, and it seemed that was just what she was going to get.

“No. I’d never run away. Why are you doing this, anyway? The war is over … The Allspark is gone,” stated the youngling as he took another step towards his fallen comrade, using himself as a type of barricade.

The flier tilted his head for a moment. He knew that the youngling was trying to buy some time until his comrades came to his rescue … He wouldn’t allow the Autobots the chance. He had to silence the little slagger or he might tell the others about the sparkling he had been tracking. It was odd, really; the little thing had been clawing its way at a wall, scared and afraid as the flier played with it. But, as soon as the little thing looked like it was about to give up, it’s little audio’s on top of its head perked up and it started running towards the warehouse district, soft little clicks escaping it. It was as if it were calling to something. So, it must have known that there were Autobots in the area. That was the only thing he could think of as an explanation for the sparkling’s behavior. Well, he lost the sparkling, but he wasn’t going to lose it forever, but first he had to get rid of this witness. He didn’t need a reign of Autobots to come down on him and his place as Decepticon leader.

“That may be so … but the hate is still there, and a tiny little string of hope,” mocked the flier as he aimed his cannon at the yellow youngling, “See you in the Pit, Autoslag.”

The little femme was only allowed a squeak of terror as a hand suddenly grabbed him, pulling him down just as cannon fire shot where he had just been standing, blowing a hole through the wall that was behind them. ‘Bee was about to start struggling against the grasp, thinking it was Barricade, with his black hands, and that somehow the two ‘Cons had found out he was a femme, when a growl told him otherwise, making him online his optics.

“’Bee, run away,” stated Ironhide, a mixture of pain and worry in his optics. It had taken a large amount of will to force his body out of stasis. There was only one thing running through his CPU as he struggled to restart his systems. It wasn’t that she was a femme, or that the youngling had kept such a secret from him … It was that his little ‘Bee had suffered alone. He had always wondered why the youngling had been so distant in relationships when they threatened to become something more than friendships, why he never allowed anyone under his chassis, and why he always seemed to become twitchy or distant with any mention of femmes. The old mech would have felt sick to his spark if his inner fluids weren’t slowly pooling out of him like snow melting into a pool.

The femme looked at him, her optics whispering and simple … No. And with that, she pulled away from her guardian, getting back to her feet and putting her fists up, “Stay away from Ironhide.”

The flier looked entertained and raised his cannon a little higher, aiming for the youngling's head. A whine filled the warehouse district and then, with a hiss, the youngling leapt forward, stealing a close combat attack he had seen Jazz use. The small mech climbed up onto the ‘Con, using his shoulder and arm cannon as a foothold as his fingers got in between the plating of the mech’s neck, his fingers tugging harshly against the tubing there. A spray of coolant suddenly burst as a line came loose, pooling up past the plating like a volcano erupting.

A cry of rage and pain escaped the ‘Con and he grabbed onto the smaller being. A squeak was all that was allowed of ‘Bee as he was pulled from his moving perch and slammed into the nearest wall like a battering ram. With a grin, the flier let go, allowing the smaller mech to slide down the wall in a hail of brick. With a soft groan of his engine, the small mech tried to pull himself up, only to cry out as a heavy foot came down on his mid riff, cracking armor.

“You little slagger! Nobody defies Starscream,” hissed the larger mech. “You won’t ruin my dreams, my plans. I’ve had to obey that Slagger, who dared to call himself my commander, for endless cycles. I had to take his abuse and constant jolts at my intelligence. I am no fool nor am I going to sit still as someone ruins my future. I will not watch my throne disappear because of,” Starscream stopped grinding his foot into the femme’s middle and started to stomp down on each word as Ironhide screamed at him in the background, “… a … little … yellow … bug … like … you.”

A scream echoed over the street like a cry from the depths of hell as the larger mech finally cracked the femme’s armor. The sneer of inner rage disappeared from the older mech’s face as the cracking noise filled his audios. He lifted his foot up for a moment, looking down at the smaller being as ‘Bee slowly looked up at him, her optics full of pain. She knew that it would only take one word to stave off this death. One simple word. A word that she had only uttered once to another Cybertronain and he now laid in a puddle of his own energon, because of it. It was a simple word, soft and sweet to even speak, no harshness in its pronunciation. All he had to do was utter it and she would be saved … a slave, but saved.

“Anything to say, little mech, before I send you to Primus?” came Starscream, his cannon whining as he pointed it down towards ‘Bee’s head, luminosity from it lighting up the crown of her head like a hellish halo.

The small mech tilted her head, staring up into the cannon as if it was the light that would lead her spark to the afterworld and into Primus’s awaiting arms. Perhaps he would apologize to her … Perhaps he could make her sexless, so that she would never have to fear a growth in her insides, nor the lust of any love or want. There would be nothing, but that heavenly light all around her.

So, despite the fact that she was probably the last chance for the species's survival, it was easy to say, “I’m happy to die with pride.”

Starscream’s face crinkled up in a confused expression. It was not unheard of for some mech’s to beg for death as the war dragged on; Decepticon, Autobots, and Neutrals alike. The flier could remember doing in a few mechs that had fallen to their knees, a begging look in their optics. But the look in this youngling’s optics was wrong. It wasn’t one of desperation and sorrow, it was something else, something the ‘Con couldn’t quite place. It seemed to be a mixture of pride and relief, like the small mech was tired. Tired of what, he’d never know. All he knew was that this Autobot didn’t seem to be afraid of the thought of death … Perhaps he really did believe in Primus and was awaiting the being’s embrace. Starscream would only admit it to himself, but he envied that. He wished he could believe in Primus, that there was a god, but after how long this never-ending war with this never-ending torture, on and off the battlefield, he knew there was no god. How he wished to be ignorant and believe in the heavenly being, if only for a moment.

The Decepticon decided that he wasn’t a philosopher; he was a scientist. It wasn’t his job to reveal the mysteries of the spark … It was someone else’s. He wouldn’t dwell on the killing of this Autobot … at least not today.

A shot echoed over the expanse, like the last call of a swan. It was mournful, even as it was accompanied with a splash of energon, pooling and seeping down the seams as if running away, as if hiding would make that wound a little less real. Starscream pulled away from the small mech, a hand touching the pooling energon, and slowly he turned his sights towards whatever stood behind him. There stood Ironhide, his body trembling as it used the building next to him to remain upright, his cannon smoking.

“Get … away from … my … Bumblebee,” hissed the black mech as he struggled to raise his gun once more.

The flier’s metallic lip component twitched as his claws ran over the wound over his midriff, “I’ll kill you.”

The flier lifted his gaze from his wound to the old warrior, and lifted his gun towards the wounded mech that was still struggling to lift his own gun, energon pooling from the hole in his chest, “One good shot deserves another.”

A scream of cannon mechanics and metal on metal filled the enclosure as Bumblebee forced himself out of the rubble and towards the ‘Con’s arm just as the gun went off. A scream escaped Ironhide, none the less. It might have been gurgled, being that ‘Bee had pushed the gun up at the last moment, catching the side of Ironhide’s face, ripping part of the jaw off and neck components, but at least it had missed the CPU components of his head and spark casing.

A growl of distaste escaped Starscream as he slammed his arm down, catching his cannon on ‘Bee’s cranial unit and causing the smaller mech to stumble backwards. ‘Bee slammed into the wall, nearly crying out as the armor from his middle pushed inward, threatening to cut into sensitive wiring and gears, but he still sprang forward, slamming his fist into the ‘Con’s midriff and right into the wound. A wince rang through the youngling’s form as his fist caught electric wiring, causing a surge to run through his systems. Yet, that was just a tickle compared to the scream of agony that escaped Starscream as the youngling twisted his fist in the wound.

It didn’t take long before the yellow mech found himself embedded in the wall once again, his CPU spinning, the gun pointed at his head and whirling. The small mech’s engine whined softly with a fear that he’d never allow his optics to show, yet a soft click seemed to escape him. Then another and another soft click. ‘Bee’s spark seemed to jump and flutter uncontrollably as if it was trying to tell him something. It was then that he realized that it wasn’t him who was clicking. Slowly, the small femme onlined her optics, looking up at Starscream; the gun was still pointed at her, but the ‘Con was looking in Ironhide’s direction. Bumblebee followed the gaze, thinking that maybe the clicking was coming from Ironhide’s vocals, but Ironhide merely sat there twitching in agony. So where was that clicking coming from?

A soft and suddenly closer click occurred right next to her and the femme nearly jumped out of her armor when she noticed that something was trying to crawl on top of the large trash bin next to her. Then, as if Primus had just stepped before her, ‘Bee’s spark seemed to explode with a mix of different emotions as she stared at the glowing red eyes that were staring at her. The skeletal sparkling chirped once more, it’s white, incredibly thin, fingers reaching out towards her as if he or she was begging to be held.

Bumblebee had no idea why, but her spark seemed to be slamming against its casing, yelling at her to pick the small thing up. Pick it up right now! In fact, she had almost completely forgotten that Starscream was above her, with a gun ready to shoot. All she could think of was that little thing and how small it was, and how badly her spark wanted to feel its essence pressed up against her armor. For a moment, the femme almost shivered, as her spark pulsed once more in a sad mournful way, armor shifting away from her spark as if making room for a non-existent being that was supposed to be taking up that space … It wanted a sparkling of its own. It wanted to feel a small being within her, its tiny form growing slowly as it turned and twisted, testing new joints and feeding off its mother’s spark for both attention and nutrition.

Yet, the feeling of internal plating sliding apart disappeared as quickly as it came, when a voice echoed through her thoughts like a dull blade.

“Well, well, well. Look who we have here? It seems you came to me,” murmured the ‘Con as he stared at the small sparkling, which had once been an X-box, a glint in his optics.

The sparkling, who hadn’t even noticed the Decepticon because he or she had been paying attention to ‘Bee, suddenly squeaked in fear and tried to scrambled off the larger trash bin it had crawled on top of. Starscream growled in his throat as the sparkling started to run away, not even noting that Ironhide had tried to reach out and click to the sparkling with his damaged jaw. The flier quickly turned his attention back to ‘Bee, ready to shoot when the cry of sirens pierced the night air. With a quick glance upward, the flier suddenly saw an enforcer racing toward him, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Is the display really necessary, Barricade?” he yelled. “Glad you’re here. Go after the sparkling, I’m not done playing with these two yet.”

But, the flier’s grin was quickly turned into a shocked expression when the enforcer didn’t speed past him, but instead aimed straight toward him, slamming into his legs and making the ‘Con fall over like a domino. It was in that split moment, as he fell into the road, that he noticed that that was not Barricade … That point was made twice as obvious when he saw the mech transform and point a gun into his face.

“Hold still or I shoot,” stated Prowl, in an even tone, as his sensors danced over the area, trying to get a firm grasp on the situation. It didn’t take long for him to spot ‘Bee, who seemed injured but nothing too drastic, yet, he seemed to have a lot of fluid on him for such trifle wounds. However, he didn’t get to dwell on that fact much longer when a choking noise caught his attention and he looked to his right. Prowl’s wings tightened in a collection of surprise and disgust, “Ironhide?”

The black mech tried to turn his head to look at his fellow soldier, but nearly cried out in pain as several wires in his half missing neck threatened to rip. Prowl soon found his feet threatening to move, but he quickly tightened; he had to watch Starscream. It was a necessity, especially after what he said. There were no sparklings … were there?

“Bumblebee,” stated Prowl in a cold tone, “Are you functioning at an acceptable level?”

The smaller mech slowly lifted up his head, still a little overcome by the fact that she wasn’t dead. Hurriedly, a system check was listing all the damage she had attained. She sighed, it wasn’t anything life threatening, but it was still enough that Ratchet would have to peel off all her frontal plate armor and replace it. Primus, she hoped Mikaela could weld real well. The little femme shook her head once more, trying to regain some of her composure after nearly being stomped to death.

“Y-yah … I think. How’s Ironhide?”

“We’ll soon see,” added Prowl as he threatened the flier with a glare if he dare twitch another finger. Soon, the roar of a diesel engine greeted the two Autobots as Optimus transformed in a rolling slide, his larger foot coming within mere inches of Starscream’s head, throwing bits of the road into the flier's optics. The flier growled at him as the leader pointed his gun at his head as well.

“Prowl, report.”

The tactician didn’t look up at his commander, his sights still on the dangerous Decepticon, “Insufficient data, but I can only assume that Ironhide was taken out early in the battle and ‘Bee has acquired minor injuries while defending him,” the cruiser looked up at his commander, worry in his optics, “Ironhide doesn’t look good.”

Optimus, who had had his sights on Starscream, quickly looked up, a sadness forming in his optics. He quickly forgot the ‘Con and rushed to his Weapon Specialist’s side, his fingers dangling over his fallen soldier as if he were afraid to touch him. So, he used the next best thing, his scanners. The blue light danced over the injured being as Ironhide twitched his fingers, throwing a nervous glance from Bumblebee’s form up to Optimus’s line of sight. He twitched slightly when he moved his head, trying to get the Prime to look at the femme.

Optimus quickly put a hand forward, taking the strain off Ironhide’s head, small traces of energon seeping through the Prime’s fingers, “Calm yourself, Ironhide. Don’t move your head; it looks like the structural integrity of your neck has been damaged, along with the sensors on the side of your head. Don’t move, I’ll try contacting Ratchet.”

Ironhide gurgled, cursing the flier for his good aim even though he had not aimed for his Comm. link. So, he had to tell his commander in another way. With a desperate gurgle, Ironhide tried to raise a hand to point at the young mech that was still lying on the wall, holding his middle as his systems tried to calm down. Yet, his commander did not notice the desperate act to communicate. Optimus was still struggling to contact Ratchet; his optics flickering as he frantically changed signals, struggling to capture even a sign from his medic. The Autobot sighed as he changed to a different signal.

**“Optimus to Hound, come in Hound.”**

**“Hound here. What can I do for you, Prime?”**

A sigh escaped from the great commander, **“Is Wheeljack on his feet?”**

There was a silence on the other line, **“Who’z injured Prime?”**

 **“It’s Ironhide,”** murmured the larger mech as he looked Ironhide in the optics, noting his pleading look. He must have been in a lot of pain to have that expression on his face and the first thing he was going to do, when they got to their base, was to offline the mech so he could merely rest through the pain, **“and Ratchet’s not answering his Comm. link.”**

 **“I know, I’ve tried,”** answered the usually calm mech coldly, **“and I think it’s unwise to have Wheeljack out of the med bay His spark has been having erratic episodes. Nothing dangerous, but we both fear that it might be a stage four virus. So, he could do repairs, but no direct up-links should be attempted.”**

A tired growl escaped the Commander’s vocals, **“Fine. Hound I want you to meet us at our current location. You have the most experience in field repairs and I’ll do what I can before you arrive. He must be moved before the sun rises … also, bring some energon cuffs.”**

The commander looked back down at his officer; Ironhide was still throwing him a begging look and then towards Bumblebee, silently begging his commander to go look at ‘Bee’s injuries. Bumblebee was the important one here! They had to get to ‘Bee … They had to get her off the street and into the base where it would be safe for a femme. The Decepticons could be anywhere! They’d rape her … over … and over ... and over again, her vocals shorting out as she cried out in terror. The older mech shivered. He would not let that happen to his beautiful, fragile, little ‘Bee.

“Calm yourself, Ironhide,” added Optimus as he cupped the mech’s chin, taking his thumb and rubbing it against his good audio to try to get him to calm down and stop his shivering, “You’ve lost a fair amount of energon, but you’ve suffered worst injuries than this. Yet, I fear that you might not be able to communicate, feed yourself, or move for a while,” added the mech with a soft laugh as he tried to comfort his old friend, “Now, try powering down. I will make some field repairs until we can get you to the med bay.”

Ironhide’s optics brightened in a slight tint of irritation, as he tried to free his head from Optimus’s larger hand so he could throw a pleading look at ‘Bee. Instead of freeing his head, a sting of pain ran up his form, making his lips spread as a scream tried to pass over his lips. Instead, a sickening gurgle escaped his throat as coolant flooded down the front of his chin and down his chest. The flow quickly ran down into his other wound, his entire form shaking violently as the coolant drowned some live circuits.

Starscream, who had been watching Prowl, took the tactician’s sudden glance sideways as a sign to claw out his ankle, causing him to go down with a sickening 'smack.' Then, before the other two able mech’s could even move, the ‘Con was racing down the alley in the direction the little sparkling had gone.

For some reason, unknown to the young femme, her spark slammed against her casing, but it wasn’t the usual demanding, longing feeling. It was pain. True, blood-longing pain! It was crying out to the sparkling, demanding ‘Bee to rise to her feet and find it, comfort it, lubb it into recharge between her chassis, and take care of it until it was of age. And for some reason … ‘Bee didn’t disagree. She rose to her feet, ignoring the groan of stressed metal, and started to run after the grounded flier.

Prowl quickly rose to his feet, his knee joint squealing in stress as he launched after the two as well.

“PROWL!”

The tactician came to a sliding halt, throwing his head back in order to toss a confused look at his commander.

“Let ‘Bee track him … I need you here,” added the Prime, Ratchet’s words echoing in his processors. He would not leave him alone. Prowl had been abnormally quiet on the whole trip. Now, Prowl had always been a mech of few words, but Prime knew that the tactician relished in his company. He hadn’t said a word. He just pushed himself too hard, his engine even panting from the stain since the med bay. Ratchet was right … He should have left him in the medical bay.

Prowl’s wings twitched. His engine hurt and it was begging him to stop, but he couldn’t, or the ache would set in once again. He had to keep moving. He had to MOVE!

“Prime, ‘Bee can’t handle Starscream on his own. I will act as back-up.”

Optimus sighed; that wasn’t normal behavior for Prowl, he never disobeyed an order like that. Prime sadly accepted the fact that as soon as Ironhide was stable and Prowl confined in Hound or Wheeljack’s care, he’d find his medic and admit to him that he was right. Then, after Prowl and Ironhide were stable, he’d throw him in the brig for his disobedience to a superior officer.

“No, you will stay here and help me with Ironhide.”

Prowl ignored the command and was about to run forward when he nearly choked on his own glossa as one of Prime’s long arms reached out, grasping his wrist, “Prowl, I promised Ratchet that I wouldn’t leave you alone and I will not. You will stay here and help me with Ironhide,” Prowl merely stared at him, his optics full of hurt, “I know it hurts Prowl, that sickening ache inside your chest, but running away isn’t going to help anyone right now.”

A moment of sickness dragged through the air, ‘Bee and his chase forgotten, but slowly Prowl moved forward in a cold daze, falling at Ironhide’s side. A word wasn’t said after that as the two saved their companion, whose optics could only beg as he refused to shut down.

XXX

‘Bee had long since transformed, his headlights haunting the walls of the warehouses as he chased after the grounded flier, whom had since transformed into a haunting, black Cadillac. He’d seemed to be having some difficulty with the form, which ‘Bee could easily tell given how effortless it was to catch up to him. The youngling wasn’t surprised, mechs that chose an alt form that was too small for their bulk, were generally in pain when they weren’t in their bipedal form. Great news for the Autobot, one hard hit and the Con’s pain receptors might overload, and he’d win the battle.

The Camaro wasted no time pulling up next to the bulky Cadillac, paper bits from the alley following behind his tires like a whitening wind. The little femme quickly did a test swerve to investigate his hypothesis about the pain. Starscream nearly plowed into a brick wall to ignore him. The small femme then grew more daring as she tried again. Sparks danced over the concrete like stars falling from the heavens as she hit into his siding.

A bark was all that wavered from the other metallic being before he suddenly turned the corner. The small mech cursed himself for not noticing the turn sooner, his systems automatically logging online in order to find the quickest route that would allow him to cut off Starscream. A scream of tires quickly filled the road as Bumblebee jumped in front of a cab that was wandering the midnight hour, and then took a hard left which would have most cars missing a hub-cap.

Yet, when ‘Bee reached the destination, which was a straight roadway up to the highway, there was no sign of the grounded flier. The femme’s engine growled as she transformed, looking to and fro to make sure no humans were about. With a quick glance upward, ‘Bee made sure that the flier wasn’t going to try sniping from the rooftops again. Not a damn thing … so that meant that he was hiding … or he had found the sparkling.

‘Bee’s spark slammed violently against its casing as she went running down the alley, her spark telling her the way. It was a strange feeling and ‘Bee knew that if she would have actually paid attention to the elder mech’s stories about femmes, she’d know what was going on. But, in order to seem inconspicuous to the others, she had shied away from any questions she might have had … She was regretting such an action now. The Allspark must have matured her spark when she had touched it … knowing it was at its end, making sure its children could continue. She hated it for that and for leaving her, but mostly she hated herself for not asking the questions she needed to ask about femmes. There was no way she could ask now without arising suspicion. On the Ark or one of the bases, she could have spread out her questions amongst many different mechs, and no one would be the wiser.

Suddenly, she heard a cry that almost made her weapons’ system go berserk. She had never heard the sound before … yet it was a sound her very spark seemed to know and it filled her with rage. Soon, she found herself within a building, walking around piles of boxes as she came to a halt, a shadow casting itself over her. A feral growl threatened to escape the femme as her optics glowed upward at the larger mech who had his back to her, all his attention on the squealing little sparkling in its grasp. The femme nearly lost her oil as she looked at the young thing's status. The sparkling’s chest was bared open as an eerie white light threw itself over Starscream’s paint job. From the angle the ‘Con was standing, ‘Bee could tell he was smiling down at the being that used to be an x-box, his other hand petting the little femme sparkling’s helm, cooing to it.

“There, there, little one. When you are of age … you’ll be the mother of my army,” cooed the flier as the little thing continued to cry, its little fingers clawing at the seams in the Con’s fingers.

Then it went silent, and the femme’s cries hushed as her optics turned away from the flier who was petting her and towards the being behind Starscream. Her optics met with ‘Bee’s and the two stared at each other for what felt like forever, their sparks whispering the truths of life to each other. The sparkling seemed not to know what lay in store for her. She just seemed to know that she wasn’t afraid of that thing beating in her chest. She was not afraid, unlike ‘Bee. She was not afraid of what she was … She was only a few weeks old and she already knew what she was. She did not lie to herself … She accepted the fate that Primus had bestowed upon her with the fleeting grace of the wind.

‘Bee wished to envy her … and hated her, but she would not let the sparkling suffer. That truth of being a femme only brought pain, suffering, and ultimately a humiliating death. She’d kill Starscream without a second thought and take the femme. She’d then hide the femme like she had been hidden. There’ll be no suffering for her.

The fake mech pulled out her arm blade, sneaking up behind the larger mech, and then with the speed that would put Blurr to shame, she slammed the blade into the joint between his shoulder and arm. A scream of pain escaped him and he dropped the little femme to the ground, allowing her to scamper away to be found another day, “Stay away from her!”

The flier merely growl, his head slowly turning so he could gaze at the offender. He then turned his head to where the sparkling had been cowering a moment ago. She was gone, but at least now he knew that the Allspark had not abandoned him … It didn’t matter if he had to tear this whole backwash planet apart to find her again, but it seemed that he had to start ripping each Autobot apart first.

He’d start with the bug.

A squeak was all that was allowed the small mech as the flier grabbed ‘Bee by her throat, slamming her against the nearest wall, ruble falling to the ground like heavy snow.

“You have interrupted me for the last time! I will find a femme if it’s the last thing I do … if I have to rip you and every other Autobot apart to get what I want.” There was a sharp twang of metal, his claws waving in front of ‘Bee’s eyes, “You might have been able to save your caretaker, but not yourself.”

A silent scream escaped the femme as Starscream slammed his claws into her abdomen, pulling up towards her chest, energon pooling down his fingers.

“Bye, bye, little bee.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For dearest GoldenEagle and her cliff-hanger headache. :3
> 
> ... Though I just left you off with another one. XD


	11. Lingering Touches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh gad! The beta-fairy stopped and visited me … or was that just Litahatchee?

Ironhide trembled as he felt Hound bury his fingers into his neck, being as gentle as possible with the older mech, who was unwilling to slip into stasis. The Weapon's Specialist moved his mouth components in what should have been a silent moan of pain, but he did not give in to his agony. He knew that if he went into stasis now, he might not wake up for days to come. And in that time, ‘Bee could be hurt, or worse. He had seen the 'worse' once, and never wanted to remember it again … but, it came none the less; it always did.

The pained memory he recalled was the death of Tripcord, a Neutral femme. He had been lying in a pool of his own energon at the time, his structural integrity on the breaking point, unable to move, and thought dead by the ‘Cons. But, he could still see … He could see. He had to watch in silence as they-they tortured her. No, they just couldn’t slaughter her on sight like Megatron had ordered and be merciful. They had to soil her before they sent her to the Matrix.

In his dreams, and sadly enough to be his first dream, he was still haunted by it sometimes. There, in his tortured memories, her cries were like shifting static; her vocals long since shorted-out due to her endless screams. Her fingers were marred from all the clawing and scratching she had done to the ground and her attackers, leaving handprints created by her own energon on her attackers’ chests like war paint. Her fight was fruitless, though. They managed to rip off one of her legs, not even allowing her the simple defense of trying to keep her legs crossed so that they could not access her interface circuitry.

The poor femme … they … they took her apart one piece at a time, ripping off armor as they forced her to overload; the sick bastards. Yet, despite his want to save the femme, after a few breems, Ironhide was praying that she’d just die from energon loss. It was pooling all over the ground, like a puddle after a shower. Yet, they couldn’t allow her to simply bleed to death. They couldn’t just filthy her by ripping off her cod piece and dirtying her interface systems … They had to rip open her chest, baring her spark. They then proceeded in torturing Tripcord by slamming their sparks against hers as if wishing to create a new life. It was a mocking statement really … and cruel.

Thankfully, someone offered her death.

Thundercracker came swooping out of the sky like a hell-bent angel, slamming off the next ‘Con like a rag doll before he could take her. He stared at her for a moment, as if sympathetic, his wings shimmering from the light emitted by the fire of the city that burned behind them. Ironhide’s body was starting to go into stasis by now, but he could see the ‘Cons lips move. He couldn’t hear the terms, but it was a short sentence of four or five words. The femme stopped gagging on her own fluids for a moment, and looked at him before shutting down her optics in acceptance.

... and then he slammed his heel into her spark, throwing bits of shivering white glass into the air like snow, and she was dead. Her vocalizer whispered one last thing before it merely hummed in a partial word, murmuring to Ironhide like a sick lullaby as he fell into stasis.

The mech turned his optics back on and gave Optimus a pleading look, praying that someone would understand.

“It’s okay old friend,” murmured Optimus as he petted the good side of the Weapon's Specialist’s head once more, trying to find a way to calm him. He had never seen his Weapon's Specialist so desperate. He must have been in some horrible pain to be giving him such a pleading look. It sickened him to see any of his men this way.

Optimus slowly looked over towards his green soldier, noting how slow Hound’s repairs seemed as compared to Ratchet’s. The commander’s optics slowly dragged themselves up Hound’s form, noting how energon and a collection of Ironhide's coolant were seeping between the seams of his arms. With a soft chill in his voice, Prime asked, “Hound. Why can’t he shut down? He’s in agony.”

Hound stopped for a moment, his optics settling on Prime with a sickening stillness. Then, just as quickly as the silence came, he was back to work, his metallic fingers clapping softly against Ironhide’s metallic innards, “I’m not sure Optimus. I-I’m not a medic. This here is already over my head, but I’ll try to offline him as soon as I block off this coolant line.”

A twitch escaped Ironhide at the mention of being off-lined. Of course, the twitch merely caused Hound to still his hands, and Prime to immobilize his neck so he wouldn’t rip Hound’s handiwork if a sudden seizure took over his systems.

“Shhhh,” offered Prime as he cupped Ironhide’s chin, tilting his head slightly to give Hound better access, “the pain will be over in a moment old friend.”

With a dim of his optics, Ironhide turned his attention to Hound, praying that the scout would understand him, but the green mech merely stopped, thinking the look meant he was in pain. Hound quickly whispered some calming words, telling him it would be over soon, but then turned his attention back to the Weapon's Specialist’s wounds. Ironhide optics dimmed even more as he tried to lift up one of his hands to attempt some sort of sign language, but as soon as his arm rose off the ground, a heavy hand pressed it back down.

“Don’t try to move, soldier,” murmured Prime as he gently squeezed the limb.

“Prowl,” added the Prime as he turned his head towards Prowl. The tactician had had his gaze in the direction ‘Bee and Starscream had left in. Optimus knew the mech was mad at him, but he couldn’t lose two men today, “have you contacted the twins?”

Prowl nodded his head, feeling the tension in his neck. He wanted to run; he wanted to feel his knuckles cry out as he slammed them into Starscream’s facial plates with all the force his smaller form could muster. He wanted to feel the heat blaze inside his cannon, begging for release in a hot blistering way as he shot at his enemy. He wanted to do anything but sit still around a bleeding mech … Was that how Jazz bled to death? Did he suffer? Nobody knew ... They merely found his corpse. Jazz had died alone and probably in agony.

“Prowl!”

The mech twitched and quickly trudged over to Ironhide, his wings twitching, “Yes, Prime?”

Optimus gave him a saddened look; it was a rarity to ever see Prowl’s wings twitch; he was a cool-collective mech, “Bumblebee is fine. The twins will help him out.”

The tactician merely nodded; that wasn’t what he was worried about. He was worried that his insides would snap, that he’d fall to his knees as he was overcome by his inner agony. He couldn't stand being here … He needed to get away.

“Now come hold Ironhide’s neck. I need to find a trailer so that we can transport him once Hound has stabilized him.”

Prowl quickly kneeled down, ignoring the pain radiating in his chest as he took over Optimus’s post. It took all of his self-control not to look at Hound’s handy work. Instead, his gaze wandered up to Ironhide’s optics. He was drawn back for a moment. The Weapon's Specialist’s gaze was boring into him with a pained, begging look. The tactician was about to whisper to Hound to cease for a moment so that Ironhide could shoulder the pain. Yet, before his lip components could move, Ironhide’s optics moved down to his hand. Now free from Optimus’s grasp, Ironhide was able to move his hand. Prowl watched as Ironhide’s fingers started to twitch in a manner which was far too intricate to be a spasm of some type. Prowl watched for a moment, his hand slowly reaching over to Hound.

The replacement medic twitched at the sudden touch to his shoulder and looked over at Prowl. He could see Prowl’s wings twitching, a very odd reaction given the tactician’s usual behavior for stillness. It probably had something to do with all the mech fluid dripping over his fingers.

“I’m almost done, Prowl,” whispered the green mech as he returned to his work.

“Yes, but his fingers are moving in a strange manner. It’s as if he’s trying to tell us something … like sign language, even.”

Hound looked up for a moment, his almost ever-present calmness running thin. He stared at the fingers to please his fellow Autobot. It truly did look like he was trying to say something; he was in terrible pain after all, and unable to speak.

“Don’t worry Ironhide,” murmured the backup medic as he reached for the back of the mech’s neck, “the pain will all be over when you wake up.”

Ironhide’s optics brightened in a silent plea as he threw a shivering glance back at Prowl, and then, despite his struggles, he was given in to darkness, and released from the world of pain.

XXX

The world is simple. The very essence of the world is power … of all worlds, in fact. It was power that started the universe in the Big Bang. It was the gravitational power of a forming star that formed planets, and it was the evolutionary power of the planet that formed life forms, whether they be made of flesh or steel.

That was what Starscream wanted … He wanted power. Yet, it had taken him a while to understand what power really was. In his younger years, before the war had reared its deliciously ugly head, he had thought education equaled power. So, he had become a scientist, and even though he was very glad for the education and how it had helped him during the war, it was not what he desired. So, he joined Megatron, young and foolish as he was, thinking that physical strength equaled power, and for a millennia he had imprudently believed that. Yet, one day, he was shot down from the sky, falling to the planet like an angel thrown from heaven. It was then that he realized that he didn’t have power, or respect for that matter, when Megatron left him on the battle field to fend for himself.

So what was power? The flier had dwelled on it for vorns. Until, one day, he looked up onto Megatron, his optics dimming at the realization: Megatron was power. So, the scientist-turned-slaughterer fought, tricked, and weaseled for that thrown of command, thinking was the definition of power.

He was proven wrong, again and again, until one day, weary from his constant battles and ready to just give in to the ultimate conclusion that he would never have the power he so desperately craved, he was attacked by a rookie Autobot on the field. It hadn’t taken him ten seconds to de-arm, literary de-arm, the mech and pin him against the wall, his claws digging into the youngling’s armor with uncanny ferocity. It was then, as he looked into the youngling’s optics, that he grasped what power was. It was that look of fear … power was how one looked in another’s optics. Power was how other’s looked onto you.

The flier had been flabbergasted at the inner realization. There were mechs that put Megatron’s arsenal to shame, yet they bowed to him like whipped dogs; there were also mechs more intelligent and mechs more agile that could easily destroy Megatron … Yet, Megatron had power. He had their optics always upon him...

...Just like the frightened little blue optics that were on Starscream right now. Right now he was power! Starscream was even, at comparison, a god of the moment, taking life as he pleased. The flier drew a little closer, drawing the smaller mech upward against the wall while simultaneously dragging deeper into the wound. Bumblebee’s engine gasped and shuddered in pain as he tried to wrap his hands around the ‘Cons wrist so that he could keep some weight off of his innards. Yet, the hand was suddenly removed as the mech crushed his chest against the Autobot's, pinning him as his bloodied fingers came up on either side of the Autobot’s face. He stilled the youngling’s head and looked deeply into those optics, enjoying the fear in them. Starscream drew his face a little nearer so he was mere inches from ‘Bee’s face, watching those optics shiver in dullness from the pain coursing though his body.

“Do you know what power is, youngling?” murmured the older mech into ‘Bee’s audio, as if he were whispering to a lover.

The young mech merely jerked, trying to push away from his capture as if he was more afraid of the closeness than the thought of death … It was delicious.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’,” mocked the flier as he grabbed the youngling by his head, slamming the back of his helm into the wall.

A whimper escaped the youngling as his body trembled in agony, energon bleeding from his wound, and dripping down into a puddle below. Primus, it hurt. It hurt to twitch, even to pull cool air into his cooling systems. ‘Bee knew that he had to get away from this ‘Con. Where was his blade?! The youngling whimpered as he spotted it on the ground where Starscream had thrown it when pulling it from his wound. H-He was defenseless! He had to call Prime!

“ **Opti-”**

The youngling went rigid as he cut off the transmission as soon as it started … If he cried for help, they would certainly come, but then they’d want to look at his wound; a chest wound. None of them were medics, but they’d know the light of a femme's spark. Then, all the suffering he had gone through, mentally and physically, would be for nothing. No … she’d fight or die!

An angry cry rang through the alley like a whirlwind as the femme brought up the palm of her hand, slamming it up against the bottom of Starscream’s jaw. A loud pop and a dry cry escaped the flier as he dropped the youngling, his hands reaching up for his jaw, which was now hanging a few inches lower on one side than the other. The youngling crumpled to the ground in a lazy cluster, grabbing at the hole in his lower abdomen only to flinch; not from the agony, mind you, but from the feel of the amount of energon pooling out of the wound. H-he’d have to call Optimus.

A whimper of fear would have escaped the femme if a scream of pain hadn’t come first.

“You little fragger,” cried the flier in a rage as he kicked the femme in her would, making a large section of her lower chassis collapse inward. The little femme wasn’t even given a moment to properly suffer her wounds when she felt a hand grab her neck, nearly forcing the cables to snap as all of her weight was put onto it. Starscream then slammed her back against the wall and put his claws close to her optics, silencing her scream.

“Hmmm … I love your optics, little one. It reminds me of my first,” ‘Bee tightened, thinking the flier was going to start talking about interfacing and that he was going to rape her before murdering her, “time I killed … knowing what power was.”

Starscream smiled, loving the whimpering of the smaller mech’s vents, “Yes, you look just like him. Wrong color, but you are around the perfect size. It was in his optics that I saw what power was … and then I killed him by ripping out his spark and watching its light fade in my hand. Consider yourself honored, little ‘Bee. Not many mechs have earned this death by me.”

A scream of tearing metal and spilling energon filled the alley as the femme thrashed, Starscream dragging his hand upwards through the already warped metal of his earlier wound. He enjoyed the screams emitting from the young one, the feel of coolant and energon running down his fingers. Slowly, he reached higher into the chassis, yet he stilled his hands as they were assaulted with heat from the spark. That was strange … The spark was still a good two feet up and past the pump, but this heat … It was like …

Starscream’s optics brightened in a mixture of horror and surprise as he mentally connected the dots. The little femme he had been looking for earlier; the reason she came back was because there was an older femme in the area. She was looking for a femme to take care of her, to teach her the laws of a femme, and to be her mother. In fact, if there was any sparkling without a creator, they’d seek out a femme.

‘Bee choked as she felt the flier’s hands soften, his fingers running over the edges of the wound with almost a slight sense of shame. A choking cry escaped her as one of his hands placed pressure on the wound, stemming the flow of energon as his other hand glided upward slowly, until he had cupped Bumblebee’s chin, forcing the femme to look up at him.

If the femme had a mouth, she would have spit in his face, but all anger drained from her features as she stared onto him. He no longer bore his fangs in anger. Starscream was actually smiling, softly, and his gaze had fallen to a dull light; ‘Bee almost felt sick from that expression alone.

“Tell me youngling,” Starscream could barely contain himself as the word dragged itself slowly out of his vocalizer, “are you a femme?”

He’d said it … femme … that disgusting word; that horrible thing of which was born hand-in-hand with the words 'fear' and 'fuck.' The femme weakly cried out, suddenly finding herself kicking and wiggling, trying to get away, even though the movement was just causing her to lose energon faster. She was becoming all the weaker as her energon dripped down her legs like a flood.

Starscream twitched, not from her angry movements, but because the energon was running over his fingers at an alarming rate now. With a soft growl, the flier kicked ‘Bee’s legs out from under her and she found herself being slammed down on her aft with Starscream kneeling down next to her. Quickly, the hand that had been blocking off the flow of energon, broke up into a multitude of medical tools, diving into the wound as his optics remained on the Autobot’s face. ‘Bee merely cried out in agony as if the wound had been refreshed instead of being blocked off. Her heavy arms tried to grab at the tools that were creating such suffering. Yet, before she could get near the cause of her torment, her hands were slapped away, and she went deathly still as his free hand ran tauntingly down her chassis. Sadly, before ‘Bee could even lash out, her chest swung open with a soft click, a golden light dancing over her captor’s features, chasing away the night.

It had happened … someone had seen HER! Someone had seen that disgusting secret in her chest and now he was going to rape her, over and over again. She couldn’t help herself, with a shaky cry she shuttered her optics and pressed her weak arms against his chassis to keep him from taking her. Strangely enough, she felt no resistance against her refusal; he was still. It was like he was merely looking. So, despite the fear that was welling up in her trembling chassis, the femme un-shuttered her optics only to see that Starscream’s soft smile was still there, but now his optics were on her spark. He was observing her; he was enjoying the look of her.

“You look young … untouched even,” the flier whispered as his fingers fell within her chest, his fingers lingering mere inches above the glass of her spark, his wrists held by the femme’s shivering hands, her optics quivering in hatred as she struggled not to fall into stasis due to her wounds.

“D-don’t touch me.”

The soft, calm, expression that had been on the ‘Cons face, became one of slight irritation. A choking noise echoed over the area as Bumblebee’s arms were harshly slammed above her head, crushing armor. With a soft tick, metal fingers met the surface of her spark chamber, causing her to shiver as an assortment of unknown inpute attacked her sensory grids. Yet, the feel of his fingers was nothing compared to ‘the heat’ which was starting to crawl into her systems. Oh Primus, if it overtook her systems, she would be helpless in stopping him, not that she had much power bleeding all over and such.

A shiver ran through the flier’s form as he felt heat explode from the spark chamber, the light within becoming erratic. This was just too perfect. Her systems were primed and ready to accept a sparkling, even going so far as to try and attract a mate. He was even going to bet that she had just come of age to carry, given the untouched look of her spark chamber. There was only one thing that would make this whole thing perfect, besides the point that he now had the loyalty of hundreds of mechs. With a grin, he removed his hand from her chamber, noting how she loosened up, only to tighten again as his fingers settled on her cod piece.

Yet … even when she heard the click of the piece sliding and revealing her interfacing circuitry, the femme didn’t scream. If she screamed, it meant that she was begging for Optimus to come and save her, putting her in the same predicament she was in now, but with different mechs. She’d rather die than … than … have some parasite of her dis-choice wiggling inside her. With that thought in mind, ‘Bee slammed her head forward, hitting her helm into Starscream’s damaged jaw. The flier yelped and let her arms go to grab at his jaw, just as the femme reached forward towards a glint of metal. It was her blade. She just needed one good shot and she could kill the slagger, find the sparkling, and get repaired by Mikaela.

Another scream echoed over the alley as Screamer lurched away from her, energon bleeding from his neck. Bumblebee mentally cursed herself … She’d been too low with the cut. She was hoping to get the main energy cable that led up to the central CPU, but, instead, she got an energon line. With a weak growl, she made another lunge, only to find her optics blacking out as Starscream slapped her across the face, nearly thrusting her head from her body, her cranium shaking so badly that she could barely see straight, for that matter gain any equilibrium.

“Well,” growled the flier as he pulled a bloodied hand from his neck, deciding it was fine, “I guess I always liked my femmes a little more spirited. Now let’s see if you will be my virgin Eden mother.”

Too disoriented to properly fight, she felt his warm metallic fingers dive slightly inside her, feeling for the inpute jack to her interfacing unit. She physically lurched when she felt his fingers grasp the main cord, his thumb running over the top, feeling the glass that covered itself over the jack to protect young Cybertronians’ interfacing systems from dirt and grime … It also meant that one was untouched. Starscream smiled, rubbing the glass, noting how ‘Bee tightened with each circular movement he made. It made his systems tingle and beg for something more. With the grace of a cat, the flier leaned forward, placing his face by her head vents so that she could feel his excitement with each heated breath that fell on her neck. Slowly, he opened his mouth like a mythical vampire about to have a midnight snack, and started to taste her neck.

… Bumblebee wished she could cry like humans do. Starscream was going to rape her, and there was nothing she was going to be able to do about it. All of her worst fears were coming true...

Suddenly, perhaps by Primus’s mercy, the petting stopped as the roar of an engine filled the alley. With a growl, Starscream suddenly stopped tasting her and pulled out his arm cannon, just as a police cruiser came around the corner, a trail of paper trash floating behind due to his speed.

“Slagger! You’re too late … She’s mine!” With that said, Starscream’s form jolted, slightly, as he fired a shot at the nearing figure.

Bumblebee couldn’t decide if she should be happy or not, but a small measure of relief entered her systems at the thought of Prowl getting there just in time. However, she was quickly mocked as the cruiser turned from a knight to a dragon.

With a grunt, Barricade barely had time to transform and come to a sliding halt, sparks dancing over the pavement. For a moment, the ‘Con remained low to the ground, waiting for the flier to shoot at him once again. It wasn’t the first time he’d been stabbed in the back, yet, strangely enough, a laugh echoed over the world as the flier's cannon transformed back into the arm.

“My, you certainly do resemble the filthy Autobot; second time I’ve fallen for that tonight,” murmured the flier as he motioned the other ‘Con closer to get a look at the Autobot he currently held captive. “Look what I’ve found.”

The ‘Con merely grumbled as he stalked forward, “So? You’ve managed to down the youngling, can’t say I’m … impressed,” Barricade’s words turned to statics as he drew nearer, finally seeing the soft golden light reflecting off of the cement. It couldn't be...

“Y-you found a femme?” Bumblebee was a femme! Barricade could hardly contain his surprise...

“Two actually,” noted the flier as he went back to taunting her interface jack. “The sparkling’s wandering around, but we’ll find her later. For now, we’ll worry about the one who is of age … just of age considering her; I’d have to court a human word... But, she’s a virgin and in heat. She’s perfect. All I have to do is crack this little strip of glass, and then she’ll be clawing at me to take her. You remember your first time right,” grinned the mech as he threw a glance at Barricade’s still form, “how the heat consumes you once that glass is broken, and how you ‘have’ to interface in order to download the proper files to that newly awakened system? It was exhilarating and painful at the same time … I’ll never forget it, and I’ll never let ‘Bee forget hers either.”

Barricade nodded, a frown forming on his face; it did not go unnoticed by the other mech, “Don’t worry, you’ll get your turn with her … after me, of course.”

All Barricade could do was shake his head, “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

Starscream’s lip twitched in irritation, his earlier arousal disappearing, “Then what?”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit unwise just breeding out here?” noted the mech as he raised his hands in the shrug. “There are Autobots all over and who knows if she is any condition to conceive right now. If there is something off with her systems, conceiving could kill her.”

A growl of anger escaped the flier as he bared his dental plating at the other mech; he was this close to shooting the other, but the cruiser was right. He’d have to have either Hook or Soundwave look at her. He knew his way around a mech, but he knew nothing of the reproduction of a femme, besides the fun part, that is. With a growl of his hidden turbines, Starscream stood up, the lamplight reflecting off his amour. His red optics became slits in the darkness as he glared down at the femme’s twitching form.

“We need to get her back to the temporary base,” murmured the flier as he leaned down, picking the femme up by her waist as if she were a rag doll, “you keep an eye out … The last thing I need is my femme being impregnated by one of those Autobots.”

Barricade said nothing. He merely nodded his head as he took a corner, his form disappearing in the absence of the street lamps from time to time as he moved forward as a scout. It surprised him, slightly, that there were no humans in this vicinity, not even the homeless. It was a strange occurrence to have a place where humans were lacking. The filthy things strangely reminded him of a virus with the way they multiplied, spreading outward, and destroying their environment...

… However, at the same time … they were so small … such little fingers … soft little voices … trembling curiosity … almost like sparkl-

  
“Is there something ahead?”

  
The voice reverberated down Barricade’s spine as he was harshly dragged from his thoughts. Before even thinking, the ‘Con simply answered, almost in a Soundwave-like way, “No.”

  
“Then, why are you stalling? We need to get out of here. I’m sure that Weapon's Specialist I mangled is either on his way to their base or dead. They will want blood,” hissed Starscream as he felt a nervousness set in for the first time in a millennium.

Silence wasn’t his thing. Fliers were loud, fast, and gun-ho! Sneaking about in alleyways wasn’t his forte, especially when his femme was starting to snap out of the earlier slap to the cerebrum. She was sure to come out of her stupor and scream for a rescue … It kind of surprised him that she hadn’t been screaming earlier. In fact, it was disconcerting … She should have been screaming her head off, crying for her fellow Autobots. The flier pulled the disjointed femme up a little more by his arm around her waist, so that her feet wouldn’t drag on the cement too much. It was highly illogical … just –

  
“It seems you are the one dragging behind now,” curbed the black mech as he stopped, posing with one hand on his hip, “what’s troubling you oh-wise leader?”

  
A growl emitted from the flier’s vocals, but he made no move to the other ‘Con’s jab about his leadership skills, “It is … perplexing.”

  
Barricade stood there for a moment, waiting for the mech to continue. It wasn’t often that the Screamer and him actually had a conversation that didn’t lead to a hail of gun fire afterwards. Of course, Barricade never related to anyone very easily, so the gun fire was probably his own fault. As far as he was concerned, relationships only led to one’s downfall, so why set himself up?

  
“Oh, don’t leave me entranced with your effective use of dramatic pause … I’m just dying to know what thoughts are in your head,” murmured the mech with a slight sarcasm in his voice as he took the next corner.

  
“Why didn’t she scream?”

  
Barricade stilled himself in mid step and looked at the flier as if perplexed by his stupidity, “Isn’t it fairly obvious?” Starscream merely glared at him. “She’s hiding.”

  
“That is a fairly noticeable deduction, you slagging moron; especially since I hadn’t noticed till I had my claws in her gut,” growled the flier as he momentarily set Bumblebee down against the wall, her head lolling to the side. She had started to twitch a little too frequently now … He was going to have to offline her to keep her silent and still.

  
“No … I mean from everyone,” murmured Barricade as his optics obtained a distant look. “Lots of femmes hid from everyone: from their lovers, their families, each other, and their units. Nobody even noticed, as long as they were able to keep their chests closed.”

  
A smirk, which would put the Joker to shame, crossed the flier’s features, “So … they have no idea that she’s a femme?”

  
Barricade nodded, his shoulder’s stiffening, “Yes, which would explain her virginity, at least. She’s been ignoring anything that ever resembled a relationship in order to protect herself. If she had told Prime, she’d probably already be impregnated … probably by the big guy himself … or an Autobot orgy, just to make things fair.”

  
Starscream cringed and placed a hand over his optics, “I-I didn’t really need that mental image, you slagger.”

  
The cruiser merely chuckled darkly as he turned the next corner in the endless maze of back alley-ways … That had been Blackout peeking through there. You know it’s true, the more you hang around with someone, the more they start to rub off on you. Speaking of the slagger … a part of Barricade regretted never forming a relationship farther than the occasional drink and mocking fest. He had to protect himself …

  
The thoughts on a love unknown were suddenly interrupted as gunfire slammed into the wall he had just turned. With a growl, which would put Ravage to shame, Barricade dodged back behind the wall, nearly plowing into the flier. The other Decepticon quickly pushed the enforcer off with a grunt and rose to his feet, the sound of a cannon transforming following after.

  
“Primus! That was so close! How many are there? Is it Prime or one of his lackeys,” yelled the flier as he kneeled next to his femme, scanning her to see if there was some kind of tracking device leaking through. Strangely enough, there was nothing giving off a signal at the moment.

  
“Not Prime,” grumbled the enforcer as he pulled himself up, three of his red optics turning to Starscream, the fourth one crushed and bleeding because of a piece of rubble which had ricocheted off the wall, “It seems to be the twin terrors: Sunstreaker and Sideswipe; your personal fans.”

  
“More like molesters,” grumbled the flier irritably as he recalled one of the slaggers jumping on his back with their ‘jet judo’ … He’d never admit it, but one time they nearly overloaded him when the yellow one stuck his fingers where they shouldn’t go. He’d never been able to look at the slagger again, without feeling a tingle in his cockpit. If Skywarp found out about it, he’d never hear the end of it...

  
“What should we do?” asked the mech with a slight whine; he was currently trying to remove the cement shards from his optics. It would do him no good to bleed to death if his automated repair cycle couldn’t close off the wound due to a little piece of earth filth. “We can’t go back, and we can’t drag her forward as she is.”

  
“Then we leave her,” whispered the flier as he started to aim his cannon. “You said that they probably don’t know she’s a femme, right?”

  
Barricade nodded, energon dribbling down his face, “But, if I was a femme, I would never leave the base again.”

  
“Oh, she’ll leave … if she wants to keep us quiet … and if she wants to end the heat,” the flier looked her over with hungry eyes, making sure her repairs seemed stable. For the most part, she’d survive and probably make her own repairs once she regained her composure.

It hurt to leave such a treasure behind, but he wasn’t worried. Nothing makes a pleasure more worthy than longing. It would make their time together all the more enjoyable, especially for her. The heat would build and build until she found a way to release herself. The thought made him shiver as he leaned down, his hand making her cod piece click open, “I promise you that she’ll come running.”

  
A soft chime of breaking glass echoed amongst the gunfire. The femme arched upward, static rippling over her voice. Starscream merely petted her helm as her engines started to buzz.

“Shhhh, my pretty little ‘Bee,” murmured the flier as he took his thumb and almost lovingly wiped the energon away from the optic that Ironhide had cracked earlier, as if wiping away a human tear, “don’t cry. I’ll play with you later.”

The flier then stood up stiffly, admiring the femme with all her ridged edges before glaring at the other con, “Now let’s go …Our dark paintjobs should provide us fair cover.”

  
Barricade merely stood there a moment, contemplating if he should comment on the ‘Con’s sentimentality to a femme he’d more be raping than loving. However, he didn’t get a chance as Starscream rose quickly to his feet and moved around the corner, returning fire.

 

Barricade merely looked back at the femme, away from Starscream. He watched as a new ‘tear’ of energon replaced the old one from the crushed optic. A small part of him pitied her … and then he was at Starscream’s heals. She wasn’t his problem.

 

She...Bumblebee...

 


	12. Little Sister

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glomps! Everyone say thank you to my beta Litahatchee for making the fic look so pretty. In fact, it’s pretty enough to eat. Hmm, I need a spork.
> 
> Also, I borrowed the theory of spark mitosis from someone’s fic … don’t remember who; I think it might have been from Lady Tecuma's and her excellent fic 'Sparks and Plasma'. Read it.
> 
> Bold is speaking in Cybertronian

  
It was silent again. The horrible mean ones had left, the red and yellow brothers chasing after them like a game of squishy tag. They had left her alone, once more, with the _other_. The other was like her. She wasn’t sure how, but the beating thing in her chest told her the other would protect her and keep her safe from other mean ones like the being that had picked her up, ripping open her chest. She’d be safe with the other … this sister.  
  
X-bot hid in the shadows for a moment more, a collection of cardboard boxes acting as her sanctuary. Slowly, a small shaky foot crept out of the shadows, along with a pair of red glowing eyes. Those optics blinked once or twice in a weary way … Would sister hurt her too, if she made her mad? What if sister didn’t like her and left her to fend for herself, again? X-bot didn’t like being alone. She was hungry, her leg hurt, and she was cold.   
  
The small femme shivered. She had better leave. Sister probably didn’t want her, yet, as she turned to leave, the thump in her spark chamber sounded again, in a desperate way. The little femme placed a small hand over her chest; it was telling her to go forward. The youngling cringed and turned back around, stopping her fleeing. The warmth in her chest said that the other did want; in fact she needed her.   
  
So, despite the cowering of her young CPU, which was supporting the idea of self continuation, the X-bot walked over to the still yellow form. A moment later, her small fingers shook as she dared to touch the yellow metal of the unmoving sister and, perhaps, soon to be sister-mother if she was lucky.  
  
…  
  
Bumblebee was still as she listened to Barricade and Starscream go, chased by the twins no doubt. Not that she really could care, her self-repair systems were diverting energy to her wounds. A small part of her was thanking Primus for that though; he might have cursed her, but at least he wasn’t going to allow her to be raped...not today, at least. She’d have to destroy Starscream and Barricade. If they never got off the planet, no one would be any the wiser of her ‘condition’. How was she going to pull that off, though? She had kicked Barricade’s aft once, so silencing him wouldn’t be too much of an issue, but Starscream … He would be a problem. Perhaps if she found their base she could sneak up to the flier’s berth, take out a subspace gun as she neared his still form in the darkness, with only her blue optics for light, and then put the gun towards his cranium with her finger on the –  
  
The femme twitched as a tremble ran through her spark chamber. It was making her sick, thinking of how to ‘dispose’ of those two. It was a very un-Autobot thing to do. In fact, she was sure her creator would roll over in her grave if she knew what the femme was thinking. But, what else was she supposed to do? Pull herself up into a ball and cry? A soft click escaped the femme. She probably would cry, but she would rather ignore the issue for now. Right now, the only thing she needed was for her self-repair systems to fix as much as possible so that she could limp back to Sam’s. Then she could –  
  
The femme’s thoughts all stalled when she felt something other than the wind touch her armor; it was warm, like a hand full of offending fingers. Had Starscream come back?  
A static filled scream filled the alley as she found herself crawling away on her aft, hand over her newly re-stitched wound to keep it from opening. Yet, as her form trembled in fear and shock, she found herself suddenly calmed as she stared into a pair of red optics. For a moment, the two just stared at each other as if trying to understand the thoughts of the other. It didn’t take long for the X-bot’s thoughts to brim to the surface as her small form started to shake, a clicking escaping her.  
  
She had been rejected by the older sister-mother.  
  
‘Bee just sat there a moment, agony running through her body from the sudden movement as she watched the smaller femme click to herself. All she could do was stare. ‘Bee still had no idea what had come over her earlier. If she wouldn’t have been so uncharacteristically enraged by the sight of Starscream holding the sparkling, she wouldn’t be having this issue right now. The little thing was a nuisance, really, and was probably going to give away her position if she brought it back to base. Ratchet would, then, probably demand a check over and discover its condition, leading back to her sooner or later.   
  
If she picked the thing up, she was stuck with her until she was old enough to hide her own secret.   
  
Yet, despite the protests of her CPU and how dumb the idea was, Bumblebee managed to get on her shaking legs, and walk over to the quivering sparkling. It didn’t take long before her shadow was throwing the small thing into a world of darkness. For a moment, the yellow femme just stared at it. Bumblebee had no idea what she was going to do, nor even the simplest of ideas on how to take care of a sparkling, considering she had been the youngest mech around. Yet, despite those facts, she still leaned down toward the small sparkling, like Optimus would to a human. For a moment, the adolescent femme stopped her clicking and just stared at the elder, as if looking for a clue to run. In fact, when the scout’s hand came down towards her, she cringed as if expecting to be hurt like the last time she had been touched. Instead, Bumblebee started running her finger down the sparkling’s back, noting that the little femme was soon clicking happily, optics brightened, and arms raised upward as if wanting to be held. It stunned the older femme for a moment, but she put the strange gesture under ‘after effect of human watching’ as she slowly cupped the smaller being in her hand like a crippled bird.   
  
The sparkling merely clicked and cocked its head as it waiting for ‘Bee to do something other than stare at her in confusion.  
  
“Don’t-t give me that look … I have no idea what I’m doing either.”  
  
XXX  
  
Ratchet sat on a perch which overlooked a neighboring city; said city hung near a river like a drowning rat. Yet, to Ratchet, who was far from the swishing waters, the city looked more like a collection of fireflies, and the image was very pleasant, overall. It was big enough to offer a great selection of ‘people watching’, yet small enough that he didn’t have to filter smog out of his systems.   
  
With a sigh of his engines, the medic put one leg over the edge and allowed it to hang as he placed most of his weight on one arm. He knew that there would be hell to pay once he returned to the base, but he needed this … He needed this time to be lost. It hadn’t occurred to the mech, until just now, that he had been so worried about everyone else and how they were dealing with the loss of the Allspark, that he never really stopped to think about how he felt. Strangely enough, he felt cold on the issue. It was like he had simply accepted it without even a hint of remorse, and that fact scared him.   
  
Yet, then again, maybe it was good that he didn’t mourn the Allspark like the others had. It allowed him to think clearly. True, femmes would be an automatic option to continue the species, but there was no doubt in his mind that the few that were left had gone into hiding, and he didn’t blame them. That was because they all knew that, sooner or later, desperation would set in and once it did, it wouldn’t matter if a mech was Autobot, Decepticon, or Neutral: they’d do what they’d have to. Sacrifice the few for the good of the many … The femmes would just have to suffer. That thought made the Autobot part of him sick, but what would he really do if he was offered a femme that was unwilling? Would he bed her kicking and screaming? Would he allow someone else to bed her kicking and screaming? Or would he merely drug her during the bedding to ignore a few dents and to spare her the mental trauma?   
  
The mech closed his optics and turned his head in a pained way, only to quickly look back up at the city as if to ignore the truth. It was something he’d rather ignore at the moment; he didn’t know what he, for that matter Optimus Prime, would do if they found an unwilling femme.

There were other options … maybe? Like Soundwave; the mech had always intrigued the scientific community when they weren’t busy dodging bullets. It was a well known fact that his cassettes were ‘self made’ and not creations of the Allspark. It was unlikely he was a femme, because Megatron would have certainly killed him during the femme genocide. So, how had he done it? There had been a rumor, of course, that while the Allspark was lost in the cosmos that Shockwave had Soundwave come into his lab. A spy later ran across something call spark mitosis on Shockwave’s computer. Apparently, spark mitosis was when the spark literally split itself. The spy, sadly, nearly got his head blown off when a single eye suddenly peered around the corner like a haggard crow. So, there was an option, but how did it work, and could the original organism survive afterwards? Did it matter if the original being survived? If the original host made at least two sparklings, would his sacrifice be worth it?   
  
Ratchet blinked at the thought, his optics following a shifting thing in the grass for a moment.  
  
It was most logical to sacrifice the dysfunctional, the weak, and the old. First, they’d have to create a few base experiments; perhaps, he should look into the twin’s sparks to get a better understanding of how they split. They could probably even get some inspiration from human or animal fetuses as they were developing. Yet, the real question that remained, once they figured out an answer to the spark mitosis, would be who to try it on. He had no doubt in his mind that Wheeljack would volunteer; the engineer always wanted to try out his own experiments. But, in the case that the host may not survive, he’d have to keep Wheeljack alive in order to fix the glitch and/or build the sparklings’ bodies. So, who would be left? Well, he wouldn’t want to risk a young spark like Bumblebee’s, or a leader like Optimus, so that would leave … Ironhide. He was the oldest.

  
The medic balled his hands into fists, staving off any emotion that tried to drag itself into the physical world by listening to the wind run through the dried grasses.

  
Even if they did succeed in new sparks, what then; especially if Ironhide died? Would Decepticons become a desired good? Would Starscream’s spark become more desired than the Allspark had been? Would it become a sport in capturing the flier, ripping his wings off so he was easier to hold down as they forced his spark into mitosis? What would happen when they’d run out of ‘Cons? The real question was, however, how long would it take until they, the Autobots, turned into the very enemies they fought so hard to defeat?   
  
The calmness of the surrounding area could no longer keep him still, and Ratchet rose to start his pacing. He felt disgusting inside. Part of him wanted to run away. He knew Optimus hadn’t thought of it yet, but he’d be asking Ratchet to do something … anything to continue the species. Even if Ratchet pretended to have never heard of spark mitosis, Wheeljack or one of the others might come up with another theorized idea...like artificial femmes, where a spark could he harvested of the Allspark energy it contained, and then injected into another spark until enough injections forced a male spark to change into a synthetic femme's. They could use the energy of 'Cons' sparks, injecting them into the spark of an Autobot. How many mechs would it take to make one femme? How many lives would it take to start new ones?  
  
Ratchet grabbed the side of his head, trying to bury out the thoughts of species continuation. He had been dwelling on theory like a good tactician, in case the Allspark had never been found. Those were thoughts of desperation, of a medic whose mind was tortured as soldiers died under his hands daily. He couldn’t do that, yet he knew he’d have too … sooner or later.   
  
Only one soft click of sorrow was all that was allowed to escape the medic before he stood up straight, burying the emotion so quickly that it seemed that it had never existed to begin with. He had hidden long enough; it was time to confront his companions as well as Wheeljack. They need to start writing some hypotheses if no femmes were to be found.  
  
“ **Ratchet to Wheeljack? Come in Wheeljack … I have something I need to discuss with you** ,” murmured the mech softly into his Comm. link, his back turned to the city and all its ‘pure’ life.  
  
A moment of crackling static filled his radio until a rather peeved voice filled his audios, “ **Where have ya’ been, Ratchet! We need you at the base right now!** ”  
  
The medic tried not to be flabbergasted by the engineer’s uncharacteristic tone. Figured, everyone was still pissed that he abandoned the medical bay for a few hours, “ **What crawled up your tailpipes? If it was the twins … I don’t care.** ”  
  
A huff of vents carried over the Comm. link as the engineer spoke again, his voice back to its usual tone, but a little more stressed, “ **I can honestly say I wish it was the twins an’ their antics.** ”  
  
Ratchet stiffened, his hand becoming a fist. He knew that his comrades were going to be going on a mission, but he was sure Prime wouldn’t continue a mission until he found his medic. Of course, it seemed that someone decided to cut this game of hide and seek short. It was probably Prowl; he had entirely too much swing in Prime’s decisions, which was one reason he shouldn’t have been out of the med bay until after he had grown use to the ‘ache’. He was not only a threat to himself, but those around him.  
  
“… **Who was the casualty?** ” came the medic, his voice rather cold and businesslike to hold back the worried tone that was threatening to creep to the surface like a worm from the earth.  
  
“ **It’s Ironhide. Starscream got his claws in him. He suffered for over a half an –**  
  
“ **What do you mean Starscream** ,” hissed the medic, his fingers denting his palm, “ **I thought you were after Barricade! ‘Bee can even hold his own against the slagger. If I knew you were going after that backstabbing Second In Command, I would have been at the ba-** ”  
  
“ **You should have never left the base!** ” snarled the engineer, losing the composure that he had shortly regained, “ **I’ve known you since our days in the academy, and you have done a lot of selfish things, but tonight was one of the worst. You ran off like a spoiled sparkling because you didn’t get your way and before a mission, no less!** ”  
  
Ratchet was silent for a moment, his optics wide and filled with a mixture of surprise and hurt. He and Wheeljack had a long going friendship. Wheeljack was the calm, cool, and fun side of the partnership and Ratchet was the logical, grumpy, and steady-footed character. Yet, even during the span of all that time, Wheeljack had never yelled at him like that. For the first time in eons, it seemed, he felt betrayal.   
  
He was a good medic … wasn’t he?  
  
A moment of shocked silence fell over the connection before Wheeljack spoke again, his tone softer. It was as if he knew the look that was presently covering his old companion’s face, “ **I’m sorry, Ratchet … I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just that I need you in the med bay right now. I think I may have a class four virus.** ”

Ratchet stiffened, cursing himself for not checking over his friend properly. Wheeljack continued, “ **and from the way Hound is talkin’. The damage is extensive ... and there’s a lot of energon. Hound is good for a quick fix, but he’s no medic. I need yah’ here, Ratchet. Forget everyone’s disobedience for now.** ”  
  
Ratchet was silent for a moment before his lips simply purred, “ **I’ll be there.** ”  
  
“ **Good … now, what did you want to discuss since I have a feeling your drive is going to take a while?** ”  
  
Ratchet was silent for a moment, “ **Nothing. It was just a passing thought.** ”  
  
If he wasn’t good enough to be the team’s medic, how could he even believe that he was good enough to save the species? He’d probably just kill all of his volunteers anyway. Those poor femmes, they had suffered the most because of the war and now they would continue to suffer. Part of him prayed that they never found one.  
  
XXX  
  
An eerie sound like a dying engine echoed over the darkness of the room, only to start again as soon as the silence was done introducing itself. It was a frightening sound, really, but she had learned to ignore it … until tonight, for some reason. Judy sat up with a hiss and pulled up her sleeper’s mask to glare at her husband, who was on the other side of the bed. Her nose crinkled up in discontempt and she contemplated elbowing him a good one, or pushing him off the bed.   
  
But, since she was up, she just as well go to the bathroom. Oh the joys of being middle-aged.   
  
With the sound of shifting silks, the woman threw her feet over the side of the bed where her toes dug into the cold rug below. She threw a look over her shoulder to make sure she hadn’t disturbed Ron with her movement. Then she stood up and walked to the bathroom with a yawn dragging itself down the halls.   
  
A flush and some soap later, Judy Witwicky was slowly heading back towards her bedroom, the dim lights from some night lights reflecting off her silver gown like a haunting figure of Camelot. Yet, in the mother’s midnight travels, she couldn’t help but still as a ripple of light befell her gown that was not a norm of the usual midnight lights. Judy tilted her head towards the window in wonder. It was a given that cars would drive past the house, throwing shifting lights within, but from that angle it seemed as if the car had just turned into the backyard.   
  
You know what they say, curiosity killed the cat. Well, Sam did say that he was going to be at his girlfriend’s house for the weekend. Nice girl, and Judy would be lying if she said she wasn’t looking forward to grandchildren … in a year or two, preferably. So, had Sam come home earlier? Did he and his love get into a battle of banter? She sure hoped not; if so, Ron was going to have to give that boy a talk on how to treat a woman.  
  
With the silence that only a snooping mother could emply, she crept down the stairs and towards the backdoor, arms crossed as she waited for her son to enter. However, the click of a key never happened and the door never opened. The woman quickly wilted … Her son hadn’t come home.  
  
“Must have been a play of lights,” murmured the woman to herself as she drooped and found herself halfway up the stairs, only to gasp when she suddenly heard a soft crash. Her eyes went wide and her feet froze on mid-step. Slowly, her head turned in the direction of the kitchen where the garage joined the house. Her entire body twitched when the sound came again from the direction of the garage, louder this time. The woman swallowed, and then slowly crawled down the stairs that she had just taken, a golf club finding itself in her had before she knew she had grabbed it.   
  
“No one gets in my house; I’m going to kick your ass,” whispered the woman to herself as she grew nearer and nearer to the door leading to the garage. Then, before she could stop herself and do something intelligent, like call for backup, her manicured hand was wrapped tightly around the door handle. Judy bit her lip as she gathered the nerve to attack who or whatever was in the garage. Hopefully, Ron had just left Mojo in the garage again. If he had, she was going to have to kick his ass for leaving her dog outside. Either way, someone was going to get a major ass-kicking.  
  
Then, with a Xena war cry, the woman threw the door open and readied her club for attack. Yet, no ass-kicking insued. Instead, the woman merely dropped the golf club, its metal clanging loudly as it was introduced to the floor, while Judy merely threw her hands over her mouth. Soft little gasps of fear escaped her as a tear ran down her cheek, the pair of glowing blue eyes cocking its head in question as it slowly leaned down toward her.

Of course, ‘Bee didn’t even get to speak when the woman swooned and then she passed out.  
  
Bumblebee drew back slightly but continued to sit there on the garage floor, her optics locked on the still form of Sam’s female creator. The human's vitals seemed fine, so she turned her look back towards the noise-maker. Bee could only shake her head as the trash lid was dropped, the little femme running back over to her caretaker’s leg in fear of the intruder. Then after the X-bot was sure the flesh creature wasn’t going to hurt her with sister-mother here, she crawled up onto ‘Bee’s knee to observe the fallen Judy in wonder.  
  
“I knew you’d be trouble, kid,” murmured ‘Bee softly as her hand reached forward and petted the top of the little femme’s head, not even noticing that she was treating the little sparkling the same way Ironhide had all those years ago when she used to hide in the engine room.  


 


	13. Heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta, Litahatchee, for all her hard work.

“GAHhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

“Hold him down!”

“Hound, get over here- ugh!”

“I’LL SLAGGEN KILL YOU!”

“Ratchet, you okay- clang-!”

“Slaggen glitch, grab his cannons before he overrides my locks and activates them!”

“DON’T FRAGGEN TOUCH HER YOU CON!”

“Ratchet! Where are the restraints?!”

“There are none! Have a look around! This is barely a medical bay.”

Soon there was banging coming from somewhere outside of the medical bay and in ran a confused looking Optimus Prime, energon stains still on his chest from Ironhide’s wounds. The huge commander stood there a moment in bewilderment until Ratchet threw him a glare. Next thing everyone knew, the Weapons Specialist was successfully pinned to his berth. Ratchet was beside his commander in a heartbeat, a huge needle-like instrument in hand. He then injected the struggling mech with a knockout nanite. A few more angry curses and Ironhide started to become docile.

“P-p-p-lease … don’t hurt her. Please-please don’t r-r-rape her. She’s so you-young. Don’t hurt my-my B-bu-bahmb.”

Then, the mech fell limp, his optics shivering to different settings before they went dark. There was a still moment of silence in the medical bay afterward, everyone shifting from foot to foot. It was kind of a taboo to mention femmes in a negative sense. Especially when things like rape came up. Not many of the mechs had to witness the horror of such a befalling being the genocide of the femmes was so quick and deadly, but … some had.

Ratchet noticed the nervous behavior immediately and spoke, “His behavior was probably due to being onlined in battle mode. Ironhide witnessed some grisly femme deaths during battle and that was probably brought forth by stress. Now get out of my medical bay. I have work to do.”

Slowly, with confused and nervous looks, all the mechs left like pouting children. It was a wise known fact not to test a Medic in his medical bay.

Once Ratchet saw the last mech exit, he took a rag in hand and wiped at Ironhide’s neck wound. He had been able to fix some of the cables and components of the vocal processor, but in Ironhide’s struggles, he re-damaged some of the earlier work. The medic sighed as he gave a weak smile to his unconscious patient, grabbing for some spare wire.

“Well, old friend, perhaps one day you will tell me the horrors you’ve seen. I’m sick of hearing your nightmares but never knowing the tale.”

XXX

Sam stood on the threshold of the doors leading into the base. He had been standing guard for a few hours now, like Ironhide had told him to waiting for the bots to come back. For a while there, when it started getting dark, he had thought that they had forgotten him but he was too scared of Wheeljack to go into the medical bay and ask for a ride home. So, he huddled up against the wall where he started to fall asleep, the crickets singing a lullaby to him. It was comforting, actually. It was something that Sam had never really noticed due to lifestyle.

He had never listened to nature.

Like most teenagers, nature was of no worry to him. He’d just play with his radio or text-message, the whispers of the world ignored as he walked past them. Tonight was different though. There was the wind running thought the grass, the crickets and the ticking of rocks that the wind was able to move. His heart slowly started to tick with the shifting gravel and his mind seemed to be drowned in peace.

Yet, before any hope of personal enlightenment could be reached, the roar of an engine quickly disturbed him.

“Well, there goes my discovery of nature,” grumbled Sam as he sat up and yawned, “and here comes a real bed without gravel digging into my ass.”

The human’s smile, strangely, didn’t last very long because the closer the team got the more apparent it was that they weren’t going to be able to slow down. Sam barely had time to jump out of the way as Optimus Prime came plowing by, his trailer throwing rocks all over the human as he curled up in a protective ball. The rest of the caravan then proceeded to rush past the human as if he were a dead deer carcass on the side of the road.

“Oh I feel the love,” grumbled the human as he sat up, now covered in dust from head to foot. “What the hell was that about anyway?”

It had been an hour since then and Sam still hadn’t entered the base. He had been waiting for Bumblebee to bring up the rear, but all he got was one rushed Ratchet followed by two sulking twins. Nobody said a damn thing to him. Not even one “Hey, you need a ride home” or “Why you covered in dust, boy?” Well, Sam was irritated now. He liked nature, but he liked his bed more. He was going to annoy someone until he got a ride home. Of course, as soon as he took one step inside the base, a metallic scream filled his ears. There was no doubt in his mind that it was Ironhide.

Sam’s breath was heavy by the time he had reached the area where the sound had come from. He was used to riding in a giant hand, which had made him forget just how large the base really was, especially with the ever expanding underground and the nearby rock bed. Yet, despite his need for breath, it was taken away. He was standing in the hall that led to the medical bay. Outside of it were most of the mechs, talking dimly to each other in their native language. That was no surprise in itself. What surprised him were the dried liquids on Optimus’ chest. It was a color he would never forget once Mikaela started digging around in ‘Bee internals weeks ago.

“W-what happened?” asked the human breathlessly, now understanding what the trailer had been used for. It was used for carrying bodies. Had ‘Bee been damaged too? Was that her blood on Optimus’ chest and was Ratchet in there now … touching her? The human swallowed. He had made a promise to protect his hidden femme, but how was he supposed to save her if they already knew?

“Calm down, Sam,” said Optimus as he noticed the human’s sudden spike in heart rate. “We had a small scare there for a moment, but Ratchet is called the best for a reason.”

“W-what happened?” repeated the human, his nerves still shivering despite the leader’s reassurance. “W-who was injured? Was it Bumblebee?”

Optimus shook his head, slowly walking over to the boy.

“It was Ironhide. It seems there was a sneak attack by Starscream. Bumblebee is now trying to track Barricade and the seeker back to their base,” said Optimus as he knelt down, towering over the worried looking boy. “Do not worry for him though. Bumblebee is one of our best scouts.”

Sam could merely shake his head, a dry swallow following quickly after. Then, with a worried breath, the teen asked, “I-if you say so Optimus. C-can you or someone else take me home then? I need to calm my nerves.”

And panic … but that was a discussion for another day.

XXX

Judy sat there, petting the sparkling’s head as she and Ron (well, dazed Ron) listened to Bumblebee speak. She had gone over the basic tale from looking for the Allspark, them ‘ _buying’_ her  and then Mission city. She decided to omit any descriptions of danger towards Sam, being that Judy already seemed slightly distressed by the tale though Ron was beaming with pride that his son was a hero. Then, she got to the end of her story …

“And then Sam thrust the Allspark into Megatron’s chest, destroying the Allspark and tyrant,” said Bumblebee in a pained tone, her head dropping. It had almost physically hurt to say that sentence. So many dreams, so many hopes, had died for her in that moment yet, despite all that disappointment, it still amounted to a moment that could be described in a single sentence … one single sentence.

The two older humans sat there for a moment in their lawn chairs and nightwear, like two children listening to their parents tell them the secret of the universe. Slowly, Ron leaned forward in his chair as if dissecting a thought and then asked, “The Allspark thing was … a creator of life, right?”

Bumblebee nodded, her fingers threatening to dig into the cement below in private agony.

“So … can you have any more young?” asked Ron, as if it were a simple and innocent question.

Bumblebee was silent for a moment, Ron and Judy throwing worried looks at each other as the silence dragged on longer than necessary. They were still a little surprised by the whole robots-from-space thing, but it was easy to tell that the alien before them was young and deeply upset. Judy quickly stood up, swinging the small femme onto her hip as if the sparkling were any other child. She then placed a warm hand on Bumblebee’s forearm, a soft warm smile on her lips.

“It’s okay, dear. You still got this young one, Sam, and now us,” said Judy.

The femme’s optics dimmed for a moment, her spark fluttering with a warm happiness. If she had lips, the femme would have smiled. Was this feeling the feeling beings were supposed to have for their mothers? Bumblebee didn’t remember hers very well and it wasn’t as if she could go out and get a new one. Despite the troubling circumstances, this was nice. This was really nice.

“Thank you, Judy,” said the femme softly as she leaned back, her hand removed from her abdomen as she stared at the drying energon on her fingers. It still slightly sickened her as she thought of how she got that wound, Starscream’s hand painfully sliding into her only to repair most of the major damage moments later. There was a part of her that believed that if that ‘Con slipped any other part of himself into her, it would hurt the same way… even though her spark was always telling her otherwise. She shivered at the thought, sickened by how her own body was betraying her.

Judy cringed slightly, knowing simply that it was a wound as she stared at the liquid on ‘Bee’s fingers as well. It didn’t seem deadly, but mechanics wasn’t her specialty. Throwing her head back, Judy quickly threw a look at her husband who surprisingly had noticed the strange liquid on the floor already. She wanted to smile as Ron caught on. He was smarter than he looked some days.

“Ron,” called the mother as she repositioned the little femme to her other hip, “come over here and look at this young missy’s dents and scra-”

The woman nearly yelped as Bumblebee drew away from her suddenly, the femme’s back hitting into one of the higher shelves and knocking over a collection of old canisters of paint which then splattered over the floor liked a dreamer’s cloud. For a moment, the two humans stared at the femme with shocked looks on their faces, still as if she was a spooked dear. Bumblebee wanted to stumble over an apology but her spark was sinking … had Sam broken his vow to her? Had her story already been told? Had her secret already been whispered to these two?

“W-what’s wrong, Bumblebee?” asked Judy in a worried tone, the sparkling she was holding clinging to her as its optics widened in fear as she felt sister-mother’s distress. “Do-do you not want us touching you?”

Bumblebee was silent for a moment, her fingers pressing a little tighter against her wound before she simply said, “He told you?”

“Who told us what?” asked Judy in a nervous manner. She knew she shouldn’t be afraid of the alien before her, being that they helped save the human race, but Bumblebee was still larger than her by a significant amount. It was basic survival to be afraid of something that big.

“Did Sam tell you I was a femme?” asked Bumblebee as she tightened her grip on her abdomen, feeling the metal whine under the stress it seriously couldn’t take.

Judy blinked for a moment, before laughing, patting the femme on the leg as if she was being a silly child.

“I can tell a young lady be she covered in mud or made of metal,” said the madam of the house, her smile returning. “Why, is that a bad thing?”

Bumblebee’s wings dipped a little more and Judy found her smile quickly gone. Ron, noticing the atmosphere, quickly walked over to his wife and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. It was easy to tell that this young femme before them had more injures than physical ones and those were the ones that truly needed fixing. Yet, they were merely human, not mind readers. They knew that all they could do was listen … for now at least.

After all, they could always ground Sam if he didn’t spill the beans.

“It’s bad to be a femme, I’m guessing that femme is the female of your species, is it?” asked Ron, knowing all too well the horrors that could befall a young lady, especially if she was coming here to hide in his garage rather than going to her own people when she was injured. He had a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with this Allspark thing.

“Yes,” Bumblebee said simply, her hand loosening on her wound. “The femmes nearly went extinct during the war and now … we are considered nothing more than the Allspark’s replacements.”

Ron and Judy looked at each other, neither knowing what to say. Really, what were they supposed to say? Bumblebee had mentioned the names of some of her fellow soldiers but little more. Maybe they were her ‘brothers’ or maybe the female died after giving birth. Maybe it was a social thing and once ‘mated’ a female was like an item, doomed to a life of ownership. Such things happened so much on Earth it wouldn’t be a surprising factor in an alien race as well.

Bumblebee quickly noticed their confused expressions and painfully replied, “It is dangerous to give birth to a sparkling. I will basically be little more than a bed buddy and a brooding mare until I die in a birthing. That is why I came here to hide. The difference between femmes and mechs is very little. As long as they don’t open my chest, they’ll never know I’m a femme.”

The three beings remained there, unable to look at each other, the only sound in the garage was the little sparkling’s clicks as she tried to figure out why everyone was so upset.

“D-don’t you worry, doll,” said Judy stiffly as she placed the clicking sparkling on the lawn chair, grabbing a space blanket and covering up the small femme who clicked kindly to it. “We’ll get you all fixed up. No one’s going to be hurtin’ my little boy’s savior.”

“Ron,” said the wife as she turned her head towards her husband who was investigating some of Bumblebee’s energon on the floor, “get your power tools. It’s rude to leave a gal bleeding all over the floor.”

XXX

Sam looked at his feet the whole time he was in Optimus’ cab, unsure as of what to think. He didn’t even have the usual ‘trash’ like most cars did on the floor boards to distract him from the questions and worries bouncing around in his head. Was ‘Bee okay? Had she been found out? Was she dead? Was she … gone? Had she left, due to the risk, without saying goodbye to him?

“Sam?” said the warm, deep voice of Optimus Prime. “Do you remember the last time you got a ride from me?”

“Yeah,” said the boy instinctively as he balled his hands together, burying those previous thoughts because he didn’t want to give anything away to the commander.

“Do you know how the Decepticons wronged Bumblebee or what’s been troubling him? The others and I have been worried about his strange behavior as of late. I have been hoping that you might be able to shed some light on the situation,” asked Optimus as he drew closer to the lad’s current address. “I would press him myself, but I’ve noticed that he’s been ignoring the base as if it were infested with scraplets.”

Oh boy did he know, did Sam ever, but no matter how badly he wanted someone else to share the secret with in order to assist him, that person was _not_ Optimus. The semi seemed like a good guy, but he also was the leader of the Autobots. It was his job to protect his men, to keep them safe, and promise them a bright future. It was also his job to make the tough choices … like sacrificing the few for the good of the many. It is a tough choice for any leader, Sam was sure, but it was one Optimus would probably make without a second thought. Bumblebee’s freedom would be sacrificed for the good of the species. Sam knew that much was true. He felt it in his bones.

“No, sorry, I haven’t,” said Sam, his heart shivering at the thought of the lie he had just spoken. “But ‘Bee seems better, so it doesn’t matter.”

Optimus felt the boy’s heart beat spike and the mech quickly felt his CPU drag as a result. Sam just lied to him, hadn’t he? The Prime personally wanted to inquire deeper and find out what was troubling his young soldier and why Sam had lied about it, but at least Bumblebee was confiding in someone, even if it wasn’t him. Slowly, Optimus came to a halt, his air-brakes squealing slightly in the quiet suburbia night, scaring a few cats from their hiding places.

Sam’s head shot up in surprise and shock as if he hadn’t been expecting to be home so soon … or perhaps he was just surprised he was about to get away with that lie. Not that Prime could judge him. Sometimes lies were needed for better lives.

Yet, as soon as the boy reached for the door, ready to leave, Optimus couldn’t help but click the door’s lock. He immediately felt the boy’s heart rate explode, Sam’s eyes getting wide. What had Bumblebee told the boy that was so troubling that Sam would actually be afraid of him? The leader shifted on his tires. He needed to talk to Ironhide once he awoke from his repairs. Something was up and Optimus was starting to get the feeling that it was the ‘something’ that would explode in your face if not properly fixed.

“Sam,” said Optimus softly, trying to calm the child’s rising fear as he tugged at the door, “are you sure there is nothing more?”

“No! There’s nothing!” Sam almost yelled, wanting nothing more than to get out. _Optimus knew didn’t he, didn’t he_?

“If you say so Samuel Witwicky. I will accept that for now as the truth.”

Those words echoed in the boy’s head all the way up the sidewalk, past his father’s car which was strangely out, and up to the house when the semi door had become unlocked. He was still surprised that Optimus had just … let him go, not another word. Had the semi bugged the house or did he already know and was testing Sam?

For a moment, the boy stood in the kitchen, his heart pacing at that thought. Optimus hadn’t sounded convinced. Did he really know? Did he suspect? Did he know where Bumblebee was? Had she been locked away like a prize and Optimus just wanted to make sure Sam wasn’t a leak, a snitch. The human swallowed, his chest becoming tight. Maybe he should go back to the base and –

“Ouch!”

The boy nearly jumped out of his skin as he heard a curse come from the garage. Was someone in the house? Dad did not work this late! Someone had broken in, hadn’t they? The teenager swallowed, his panic now mixed with fear and his paranoia all but exploding. Tonight was just too much. There was just too much going on! The boy quickly flung open a nearby closet, only to still as the fear dragged itself up his throat like a worm. Where was mom’s bat? How was he supposed to defend himself?! It was gone … but … he still had his mother’s favorite frying pans.

So, with stiff knees, he headed for the garage, ready to show his pride and strength as a soldier. He wasn’t going to take anymore crap today. Not … one … thing.

Yet, as he threw the door open, war cry on his lips and frying pan over his head, he could only stare in a mixture of horror and surprise as he watched his father and mother, covered in grease and coolant, look upward at him from their perch on … Bumblebee’s abdomen.

“Mom … dad?” was all the boy was allowed to ask when suddenly he was tackled by what looked like a miniature Frenzy, a scream of surprise on his lips.

XXX

“Okay,” murmured Sam as he rubbed one of the bruises he had gotten from X-bot last night, his eyes still focused on the base in front of them as he sat in Bumblebee’s alt form outside. “Now, here’s the downplay: we get in there, we get the goods, we get out, and only use force if necessary.”

Mikaela rolled her eyes and slapped the boy on the shoulder, making him wince and grab at his cast, “Please Sam, this isn’t a bank heist. Okay, now you need to get info on how to take care of sparklings and check on Ironhide, right?”

“Affirmative,” replied the speakers in a very business-like tone.

“Now, with Ironhide being injured, I’m guessing that the medical bay is going to be crawling with our resident medic and engineer,” replied the girl in a casual tone as she pulled down Bumblebee’s review mirror in order to put on some lipstick; if she was going to be acting she just as well’s fill the actor's roll perfectly, makeup included. “So, one being a medic and the other being human-crazed, I think Sam’s injury should be enough to distract them.”

“What!” yelped the boy, getting sick of _sacrifice-Sam-plans_. “I am not going to go near the metallic mad scientist again! He nearly probed me, Mikaela. PROBED!”

‘Bee merely snickered beneath the two, sending vibrations through the seats.

Sam stopped gapping like a gutted fish at his girl friend and slapped the dash. “Hush you, or I might just tell them it was you who gave me this cast. Optimus will have you on lockdown quicker than you can say 'gingivitis.'”

The small mech quickly deflated. It hadn’t been brought to light yet, but Bumblebee knew she was the cause of her human’s injury. He hadn’t even complained to her about it until now. She also had a feeling that if she did try to apologize, the human would just rub it off, saying it was nothing. How could he forgive her so easily? Maybe it was because he cared for her. After all, he had risked himself countless times since she had revealed herself to him. She had to remember to properly thank him even though no ‘thank you’ would ever be good enough. At least, if she ever had to run away from the males of her species, she’d have to promise herself to thank Sam. Even with risk of entrapment, she had to risk thanking him before this was all blown over, no matter the outcome.

“Alright,” said the girl, not noting Bumblebee’s silence, “Let’s get this over with.”

A few minutes later, Sam stood outside the medical bay clutching his casted arm. He really didn’t want to be here, doing this. Why was he here? Was he mad?

“That’s probably a yes,” grumbled the teenager aloud to himself as he stepped into the room. He didn’t even have to look up when he heard the room go still. With a sigh, the human looked upward ready to face the stares being thrown at him. He wanted to whine at the expression of astonishment in Wheeljack’s optics and the displeased glare from Ratchet.

“Why are you injured, Samuel?” asked Ratchet, crossing his arms over his chest. “And why wasn’t I notified? I know you are not officially a member of our team, Sam, but as Bumblebee’s charge, I should be notified of such things.”

Well, that wasn’t really what he was expecting, but a scolding would probably be a good distraction. No?

“Um, well, you see … It didn’t seem … Uh, I was hit by a car and it didn’t seem important at the time,” said Sam, scratching the back of his head. Technically, he wasn’t lying.

“What!” rang through the room and before the human could even dare to make a break for it, heavy footsteps were heading his way and he was plucked up by a peeved looking Ratchet. Quickly, a battery of scans fell onto the boy, drowning him. Shortly after, Sam then found himself on a medical berth, Ratchet and Wheeljack standing over him clicking away in Cybertronian. No doubt they were speaking of the healing rate of bone and Wheeljack’s earlier observation of the wound. Then, once bored with that, they started prodding him. Oh fun. At least he knew with Ratchet here he probably wouldn’t be probed. He could deal with prodding and poking...

… As long as that wasn’t a needle in Ratchet’s finger!

Bumblebee shook her head as the two mechs crowded around the small human, clucking like two mother hens. It was almost sad how easy it was to sneak into the medical bay. Yet, before she snuck into Ratchet’s private office, her feet halted. Her optics shimmered for a moment as she stared at the still form of Ironhide. He was at rest, but he wasn’t dead. The monitors seemed to be humming happily and her guardian was now fully repaired from the looks of it. She didn’t know if that fact should make her happy or scared. Ironhide never got to say what he thought about her secret. She could only pray he was on her side. Until then, she had bigger fish to fry.

Once in Ratchet’s private office, she quickly slunk up to the console. It was a well known fact that Ratchet kept all kinds of information on his office console and there was no doubt in her CPU that it had the information she would need about sparklings and … this heat thing Starscream had mentioned. She had been feeling warmer since she got around the other mechs, but she didn’t see why a little overheating was such a horrible thing, and it certainly wouldn’t make her go running to that slagger.

Pushing that thought to the side, the young femme typed in a few key words to start off her search. Slowly, she brought her face closer to the screen reading the title of the folders that had popped up. She would generally just form an uplink to the console and find the information quickly, but such an action would be unwise, especially since Ratchet had access to log-on files. It would look strange if a young ‘male’ mech was looking up information on raising sparklings and on … femme heat.

The femme grasped at her chest slightly as a wave of heat hit her, a little stronger then what she had been dealing with since the incident with Starscream. Primus, it was nasty, but not nasty enough that she would act all helpless for Starscream. Really, what made him think he could ever put her through something horrible enough that she’d come running to him?

With a small gasp of relief, the heat reduced itself once again and the femme opened a document titled ‘On the Care of Sparklings.' There was a document on femme reproduction as well, but she’d rather ignore that for the time being. It made her sick to think of any of those documents, because if there were any videos on birthing or the act of reproduction itself, she knew she’d probably just see herself in all those videos.

“Okay, let’s see what these old documents have to say,” whispered the femme aloud to herself.

Slowly, she scrolled through handling, the basic anatomy, how to tell spark sexes, how to identify common sparkling glitches, and a whole bunch of other things a medic would check for before she got to the thing she needed: feeding, which might be a problem.

Apparently, sparklings needed a weaker type of energon fuel. Sadly, it seemed that they were also too small for solar panels until a few years in, but there was one other option if low-grade couldn’t be obtained: a sparkling could piggyback off an older mech’s systems.

Bumblebee cringed at the thought. It kind of made her think of human nursing … and only the female population did that. She’d rather raid the medical bay first, and perhaps she could find a way to delude regular energon instead. There had to be another answer, but she would resort to piggy-backing if she had to.

The femme put that information aside, and then continued onward with her journey. Okay, so she knew how to feed the sparkling, now she had to make sure X-bot was hidden. Bumblebee, herself, couldn’t remember when her creator had put her into her youngling upgrade, but if she hadn’t, then Bumblebee would have been long since found out … and probably be someone’s bedmate. A shiver of heat ran through her again, but she ignored it. It would pass. It would pass.

Quickly after, a soft whine escaped Bumblebee’s engine as she looked at the information on upgrades. It was going to be a long time until she had to worry about that, a long time indeed. Primus, she’d probably have Sam’s great grandchildren babysitting the sparkling until she was ready for an upgrade.

Well, at least she knew now. Yet, there was one last thing to look at: femme anatomy. Bumblebee’s fingers couldn’t help but shake as she typed in the keyword: femme heat. She didn’t know if she should be glad or upset that the search answered so quickly. It read:

_'Femme Heat' or 'system-spark anticipation:' it is a system command in young femmes’ CPUs for the reproductive systems, which causes overheating due to the interfacing systems' log-on to the main systems. It usually is the result of first time interfacing, the glass having been broken and the CPU ready to download information on interfacing programs. This occurs only in femmes due to the nature of their sparks and the ability to carry sparklings: thus, the femme’s body overacts because it needs the programs received from interfacing in order to correctly carry and reproduce without damaging her systems. The overheating of the femme’s systems usually stops once the download from the first interfacing has been complete._

_If an interruption or error occurs during the first interfacing, the reproductive systems may affect the whole binary system, mentally and physically. Physically, a femme may feel occurrences of demanding and even crippling waves of heat in close quarters due to the ‘calling out’ of the spark to any nearby and possible participant. Mentally, depending on the amount of time without downloading proper interfacing programs, a femme’s systems may also ‘seek’ out the proper information even if it be from an unwilling host, be it femme or mech. Depending on the characteristics of the femme in question, one type of reaction may occur more often than the other. It is recommend that if the interfacing glass is cracked and the femme does not have anyone in mind to get the proper interfacing programs from, that as a civil duty, a medic must offer himself as a willing participant._

The document then rambled on about what programs were downloaded and some common reactions after a proper interface was completed. Bumblebee couldn’t look at that part because it went into the carrying aspect of a femme's anatomy and how her ‘inner workings’ would actually move to create temporary chambers for the growing sparkling. Yet, as she continued to scroll down to the bottom of the document, there were no notes on how to get rid of the heat without interfacing, nothing. The femme whined and took a step away from the computer, it turning off without anyone there to work on it. She was in trouble … wasn’t she?

“What are you doing?” said a voice from behind.

A small yelp echoed over the room as ‘Bee turned her back to the console. She stared at the other figure for a moment, a collection of shame and worry running thought her spark.

“What are you doing in here, and why haven’t you stopped in and reported to Prowl or Optimus, or for that matter, me? I was informed that you took some decent damage when Starscream started pounding you into a wall,” growled the medic as he looked over the youngling.

It was fairly obvious that whatever damage Bumblebee had received had been repaired … and messily. It was probably by someone who wasn’t strong enough to bend the metal back in perfectly, so probably a human. Plus, it seemed that the young mech’s core temperature was a little higher than it should be. It was probably true that Wheeljack’s overactive spark issue was caused by a virus which he probably received from none other than Bumblebee. He hadn't had time to check the scientist’s systems with Ironhide bleeding out, but it was best to be safe than sorry.

“But I take it,” said Ratchet, continuing due to the youngling’s silence. “That you found someone to fix that already.”

Bumblebee quickly looked the medic in the optic, saying simply, “But I knew you were busy with Ironhide. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Disturb me,” snapped the medic, knowing that he was still a little peeved about the vocal processor. “It’s my job! Now, you might have been able to get away from me with the last two injuries of yours, but I doubt that Mikaela has the equipment or know-how on how to check and rid your system of a virus.”

The femme drew back in surprise.

“W-what do you mean. I routinely check my systems,” said Bumblebee with a slight tint of worry in her voice. It had been something she had done ritually since she had entered the Autobots. She had to make sure medics stayed out of her CPU for fear that they might see a memory or a program that would make them conclude that she was a femme. It was a necessity!

“Yes, I know you do. It has been something that I’ve always trusted you to, but it’s been entirely too long since you’ve had a medic personally check your CPU. So I’m not surprised that you didn’t get one sooner. You see, with your same anti-virus system checking and rechecking, a virus can learn that pattern and trick your systems into not noticing it or the effects it’s causing on your body. Now, let’s get you on a berth.”

The youngling was about to make a run for it, when Ratchet suddenly blocked the door with his bulky body, knowing this game all too well.

“Don’t think you are getting out of this, youngling. That time in the yard is proof enough that you need this checked now. I still can’t believe I’ve let it drag out for so long. Now either walk over to a berth of your own free will or I will drag you!” growled the mech as he puffed out his chest.

Bumblebee felt herself heating up in a panic. What was she supposed to do? Not that she got time to think it over when Ratchet suddenly latched onto her arm. She was about to swing out and hit him in a weak place in his armor when suddenly it felt like her spark exploded into a rash of molten lava. Before she knew what was really happening, she found her head snapping backwards in shock, her body falling to its knees as it was slammed with a painful amount of heat, the intensity of it almost melting circuits. This was nowhere near the erotic heat she felt in the yard … this was painful, demanding.

Ratchet’s anger quickly disappeared as he stepped forward to stop the youngling from falling on his face. The heat slammed into his body from the very touch, nearly making him drop the youngling in shock. Bumblebee was overheating and at an alarming rate. With a grunt, the medic quickly picked the mech up by his armpits, dragging the young mech’s form into the medical bay in a rash hurry. Not surprisingly, the sound of scrapping metal made Wheeljack raise his head from his scans of Sam, having not been allowed to do more than that. He nearly had a small attack though when he saw what Ratchet had done to the young scout.

“Ratchet,” balked the scientist, “what did you do to Bumblebee? Yeah, the kid can be a bit paranoid, but you didn’t have to beat him unconscious.”

The medic growled at him and then snapped, “I didn’t hit him, his virus must have flared and now Bumblebee is overheating drastically. Get a coolant shot while I get him on a berth.”

Wheeljack’s ears flashed in surprise, but he rushed to get the chemical as instructed. A second later, he was helping Ratchet get the hot twitching body on the berth. Then, with quick hands, the small mech was strapped down. Ratchet merely had to place his palm upwards and the chemical was handed to him. After that, with smooth hands, the medic pushed one of the armored plates on the youngling’s neck aside and forced the needle-like tip into the energon lines of the youth’s body.

Arching upward, Bumblebee found herself assaulted with a cool feeling, her mind coming back to her as her spark painfully slammed at her insides, making her want to cry out in pain. It took a few more minutes until the femme’s CPU returned enough to her so that she could focus her optics. Part of her wished she hadn’t. Ratchet and Wheeljack were both standing over her and she was … strapped down. Instinctively, the femme whined in her vocalizer, her spark shivering in both excitement and fear.

“It’s okay Bumblebee,” said Ratchet calmly as he placed a warm hand on her shoulder, her spark withering in its case as it tried to call the heat on again. Luckily for her, her systems were still coursing with large amounts of coolant.

“I injected you with some coolant so your systems will be a little stiff for awhile, but since you are going to be lying here on the berth while I have your systems checked for viruses, I don’t think that will be a problem,” continued Ratchet in a witty manner, worry gone now that the youngling was on a berth.

The medic tried not to grin too much as the youngling gave him a worried look. He then walked over to a nearby computer console and pulled out a cord, coming back to the berth with a smirk that would put a mad scientist to shame. He quickly tilted the youth’s head and forced open the input jack in the back of the youth’s neck.

Bumblebee jumped slightly when a click echoed in her head, the computer’s systems slamming into her CPU. It was a feeling she had not felt in a long time, and the only thing she could think to do was fight against it. Unfortunately, before that thought could even come to mind, she felt the computer’s systems slowly start to shut down her firewalls.

“That shouldn’t take too long, maybe an groon or two, but you’ll feel better afterwards,” said Ratchet kindly as he watched the fear rise to the youngling’s optics. It had to be a smart-virus designed for self continuation. It knew it was about to be destroyed; it knew. “Till then, let me check over Mikaela’s work. Not that I don’t trust her or anything.”

The youngling shivered at that statement, testing his restraints like a frightened animal.

“Okay, let’s check your abdomen first,” said the medic as he ignored the youth’s nervousness, putting a palm on his abdomen and placing a little weight on it. A soft pain trembled through the wound, making ‘Bee shift away. Ratchet glared at the mech for a moment, before using a tool to pop the armor plating upward, the youth whining at the action.

“Oh, calm down, Bumblebee,” said Ratchet as he placed his hand down into the collection of wires, his optics brightening in surprise. This was wrong, not the repairs, but Bumblebee looked torn up as if someone had tried to rip open his gut. The medic’s engine huffed and he reached his hand a little deeper up into the abdomen, his instinctive fingers feeling for new or forgotten damage. If his fingers were telling him the truth … it had been a nasty mess in here and not that long ago. Out of instinct, the healer reached a little deeper up towards the spark casing, worried about cracks.

Bumblebee nearly bulked, small sparks jumping over her chest at the sudden invasion of sensation.

Ratchet quickly removed his hand, apologizing, knowing full well that he had just aroused Bumblebee’s spark. It seemed that Bumblebee was getting closer to maturity than he thought. Then, there was also the fact that his spark was extremely hot, but that could just be an aftereffect of the overheating he had received moments ago. Either way, Ratchet knew he would have to check under the hood as soon as he checked over ‘Bee’s abdomen.

“Bumblebee,” said Ratchet as he walked over to a tray of tools, picking up a small welder, “how bad was this damage? It seems there was a decent amount of repair, but it was rushed.”

The femme’s spark was still withering in its case like an angry viper that had been denied a meal as her mind struggled to decode what he had just said.

“Bumblebee?” Ratchet all but growled, “What happened?”

Yet, before the femme could do little more than shake her head ‘no’, a black and white figure walked into the room like a shadow crawling from a crypt. Prowl’s lights flashed in surprise for a moment as he caught a glimpse of who was on the table of Ratchet’s current focus.

“When did Bumblebee show up? Was he injured?” asked the tactician in a cold but worried manner as he forced himself a little deeper into the medic’s workplace. He did not want to be here, not at all.

Ratchet stopped looking at the femme in disguise, glancing up at Prowl. Part of him was surprised that the mech was even in the medical bay given what Ratchet had requested be done to him. So, he was probably only here because he had been ordered to be. Prime could be sneaky when he wanted to.

“Yes and no,” answered Ratchet, wondering if he could move fast enough to tackle the tactician and wrestle him to a berth for the next two weeks. Optimus might be upset by that … 'might' being the magic word. He’d leave the tactician be for now; he could always steal away to Prowl’s berth and kidnap the slagger from his recharge.

Prowl gave him a slightly annoyed look, figuring it was probably a Ratchet-induced injury before stating, “Did he give you the location of Starscream’s base?”

Ratchet gave the enforcer an annoyed look, putting down his tool and wiping his hands in a rag. He looked the cop car up and down for a moment, easily noticing how the mech seemed to be shying away from the gaze. Prowl’s spark was still in pain. There was no doubt about that. Ratchet had to make sure to speak to Optimus that night, if only to get the leader to promise that the tactician had to recharge in the medical bay until Ratchet gave him a clean bill of health.

“Well, no, and we won’t be getting the answer for a few more hours. He has a virus, so his CPU is a little messed up right now,” said Ratchet simply as he put his towel down, wondering what time would be a good time to catch Optimus. “So, what’s up, considering there’d be no other reason for you being in here otherwise?”

Prowl’s wings twitched ever so slightly, his hand threatening to move up to his chassis but quickly dropping.

“You are right. Optimus wants all able bodies in the debriefing room … unless Bumblebee and Ironhide can’t be alone,” continued the tactician as he looked between the two injured mechs, a bloodied Jazz flashing in his CPU momentarily. He buried the thoughts in tactical assaults of what was to come, the only sign of his inner pain was his twitching fingers.

“They’re fine,” grumbled Ratchet as he watched Prowl pull his shivering fingers into a still fist. “At least for the next forty minutes. Just tell me this though … is it good or bad news?”

Prowl was silent for a moment before simply stating, “That’s a matter of opinion, I suppose.”

XXX

It was silent in the debriefing room, like Optimus was waiting for a nonexistent ice in the vicinity to melt. Prowl had been at the console when the communication came in. It was sad to say, Optimus didn’t know if he should be happy about the news he had just received or not. It was like a double-edged sword: his good news was quickly followed by the bad. With a sigh, Optimus pinched his nose bridge before he turned to his Second in Command, whom had just walked in. Prowl informed him that Ratchet and Wheeljack weren’t far behind.

“Any hypothesis on why they are coming here?” asked Optimus, hoping to put more on the table before his men came in. Yet, it seems it wasn’t meant to be so. Soon, all of his soldiers were trudging in. Some held a lazy disposition, like Sideswipe and Sunstreaker while older mechs like Ratchet had a sturdy upper chin, readying themselves for bad news.

“What’s up Big O,” said Sideswipe in a mocking way as he slummed into the nearest chair, putting his feet up on the table.

“Put your feet down,” responded Prowl in an ill-amused manner. “Everyone else, please take a seat.”

With the soft pounding of heavy metallic feet, everyone walked around the table and took a seat. Soon everyone was staring forward at the two higher ranking officers, waiting for whatever news their leader was about to bestow upon them. It was not something new to them. They were accustomed to bad news. So, it made such meetings seem cold and threatening.

“Well,” said Optimus, strangely sad and happy at the same time. “It seems we will start with the good news first. Prowl received a reply to my transmissions this morning.”

There were a soft collection of ‘yeses’ and ‘who is it’ in the room before everyone went silent once more.

“I’m not sure who … because it’s apparently a full unit,” continued Optimus, finding it hard to enjoy the smiles and cocky grins from his men because bad news was soon to follow. “Yet, it seems the only reason there are so many showing up is because they are following a large attack force: the Decepticon battle ship, the Nemesis, is heading our way.”

A moment of drown silence crawled through the room like a dying worm, and then an explosion of voices and questions wavered through the air, shock forgotten.

“What! But Megatron is dead! You can’t –"

“Why? There is no reason for –"

“Earth has nothing to do –"

“What are the numbers? Who are some of the –"

Optimus merely sat there, his head slightly hung as he watched his men’s' tempers rise. Personally, Prowl found it slightly pathetic that out of all of them, even Prime, were acting so childish about this.

“Silence!” Prowl's voice rang out, a cold stony silence falling over the room for rarely did the tactician raise his voice. “There are a lot of unknowns at the moment. All we know for certain is that Starscream sent out some type of coded message. Now they are coming our way as if their afts were on fire. Yet, we don’t know why, the Allspark is gone. We can only guess that this is some type of revenge call and Starscream managed to rally the others in order to gain control of Megatron’s supporters. All we can do now is prepare and hope our unit gets here before they have the chance to attack.”

“How soon till they get here?” interjected Sunstreaker, his expression cold as usual. “I’m more than willing to offer some aft kicking.”

Prowl looked at the file in his hand and said simply, “Ten Earth days.”

XXX

Barricade winced as he tried to pull out some rubble in his optic socket. Energon was dribbling down his face in a small stream now. It seemed that perhaps tearing out that piece of brick from his optic wasn’t the wisest idea he had had. Now he had tiny little pieces of brick in his socket, which generally wouldn’t be a big deal, but if one of those tiny little pieces got into his CPU … he didn’t want to think about it.

“Slaggen glitch!” cried the mech as his pain receptors hissed back to life, his fingers pulling away from the wound. The receptors kept turning on due to the closeness the wound was to his CPU, and then informing him that he should contact a medic and the repair should be done while offline.

“Well, where am I going to find one of those? Up my aft?” grumbled the mech to the message as he began overriding the alert and receptors for the fifth time, before having his clawed fingers head back up towards his optic. He’d never admit it, but he missed Frenzy for a lot of reasons and this was one of them.

Suddenly, a metallic hand shot outwards and Barricade found himself ready to attack, when the face of Starscream popped into his vision. The mech retracted his blades, but kept his stiff posture. It was rare for other mechs to touch him. They knew that if they did, they’d soon find blades where they should not be. The only mechs that did not apply to this rule were Frenzy, Blackout, and his current commander. Sadly, Starscream fell under the commander title. At least now.

“How’d the call go?” asked Barricade as he pulled his hand away rather forcefully from his new commander, “Commander.”

“Don’t use that tone with me,” threatened the newly appointed Ruler of the Decepticons, his frown quickly turning into a grin. “And it went rather well. I sent some visuals of the two femmes’ sparks to prove my case. Let’s just say my men couldn’t pledge loyalty to me fast enough. They’ll be here in a few days. Luckily for me, they were in the area. ”

“Oh,” replied Barricade in a slight surprise. “You took visuals?”

“Not of the entire femmes’ forms. I don’t need someone trying to steal my virgin bride from me, but, yes, or they wouldn’t have believed me.”

Barricade couldn’t help it, he snorted and received a glare.

“You insult your new leader?”

Barricade tried to hold his tongue, but it came out anyway, Frenzy’s internet perverseness showing through, “No, just I never knew that you were so into porn.”

Starscream gave him a confused look, not really getting the pun. Then Barricade received a painful slap to the back of the head a moment later.

"That’s revolting,” growled the flier, his system having briefly checked the human’s internet. “Now, face your leader.”

Barricade tightened, the tone hadn’t been angry or one of humor. It was a tone he had never heard from the flier. Not that he conversed with the mech often, so he had no idea how he should react to it. Should the demand be treated with distrust and flight, or should it be respect as if a leader had asked it of him?

Of course, the mech didn’t have time to question the strange behavior, when Starscream’s clawed fingers suddenly lashed out and grabbed Barricade’s chin. The enforcer was about to reply with his spikes, when the flier put one of his null rays to Barricade’s cranium. It was hard not to fall still and turn as the new Commander had commanded.

“That’s a good Barricade. Now stay still while I remove that rubble for you. I wouldn’t want you to damage yourself,” purred the flier, an ulterior motive whispering behind the sentence.

Barricade went still, wondering if he should pull away.

Instead, he found it best to play Starscream’s game.

“What do you want, Starscream? You already have my allegiance,” said Barricade, fingers digging into the cement below as he tried not to twitch at the rummaging going around in his eye socket. Strangely, the flier was being incredibly gentle, so whatever he wanted he wanted it badly.

The flier grinned as he watched Barricade’s fingers dig deeper into the cement below before he answered, “Barricade, I couldn’t help but notice your treatment of that little parasite, Frenzy. You were strangely motherly and patient with him, yet you demanded obedience.”

“What of it?” asked the enforcer, successfully keeping the aching pain of his lost companion out of his features.

“Well, as you know, I plan on reproducing with the young, yellow femme once I retrieve her … or when she comes to me,” said the still black mech with a devious grin. “So it won’t be long until she pops out a sparkling, or, if I'm lucky, two, in a few months. Since they will be natural born, I can’t put them in their adult or youngling bodies until their sparks have stabilized. In other words, I’ll need a caretaker.”

It was easy to say that Barricade had been shocked stiff. He had no idea what to say. Should he be suspicious … or happy? Megatron had been deeply distrustful of caretakers in the Decepticon ranks during the war, because they were generally femme smugglers: femme sympathizers that smuggled femmes out of Decepticon prisons by faking their death or sneaking them out in cargo. So, it was bad to show any caring behavior to anyone but your lover, and even that was something kept behind closed doors.

He could only think of one thing to say, “Why?”

Starscream actually smiled, cocking his head as if a child had said something dumb yet understandable. The smile disappeared in his optics, though, as he spoke, “Because I don’t trust that Soundwave bastard and, of the men coming, he has the most patience for a sparkling. So that leaves you. You have the skills and temper. Plus, of all my men, your skills can be pulled off the field easily without consequences.”

“Why not leave it with the mother, Bumblebee?” added Barricade, ignoring the useless comment as Starscream’s fingers finally came out of his socket, bloodied piece of rubble in his grasp.

There was a soft hiss as a compartment opened in Starscream’s arm, clearly his medical supplies. The bloody fingers flicked the rubble into a nearby wall before reaching in and grabbing an optic. The light reflecting in from above ground shined through the glass and made the room look red. Not noticing the light show, the flier merely started to heat the glass slightly with a small welder he had within his medical supplies. Barricade noticed that the tool seemed to be covered in some of the femme’s dried energon. Disgusting, but it wasn’t as if they spread viruses the same way humans did.

“Because … she’ll be busy being someone else's bed buddy. Plus, I don’t want her putting her Autobot sentiments in my heir’s CPU. Now, what’s your answer? And remember, it is unwise to upset your Supreme Leader,” added Starscream as he pulled the optic away from the heat, throwing a look at his follower.

‘ _Like I have a choice_ ,’ thought Barricade, before his vocalizer added dryly, “It would be an honor to train and care for your sparkling, Commander Starscream.”

“Good. Now this may sting a little bit. You know how much these things burn going in, but we need the glass to be flexible after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thanks for all the reviews. And sorry this one took so long. I proof-read it extra well to try and get rid of any spelling errors. 
> 
> I hate proof-reading so it was kind of like torture for me. ;p


	14. Trapped in Cages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta, Litahatchee, for all her hard work.

A heavy breathing-like sound carried itself into the world, its panic speaking volumes that  words never could. In and out, in and out the breaths went as they trembled to drag a little life into itself, hoping that it would add a little more time to its clicking clock.

Wait … no.

It wasn’t breathing.

It was the gasping of vents… soft, feminine, vents.

_Ironhide’s optics switched on, his gaze drifting over the smaller figure hidden among the large pieces of rubble. The large mech twitched for a moment, his cannons ready to switch on and take from the world this being that watched him with worried optics. His gun whined, hissing like a snake, but as a small whimper escaped the figure, its form pulling into the darkness, perhaps hoping it could stave off death that way, Ironhide quickly pulled back with a whine of his own._

_Primus, what had he been thinking?! This was the bot that he was supposed to be protecting._

_“Sorry about that Arcee,” stumbled the Weapons Specialist as he watched the femme pull closer to the large piece of building she was leaning against, her vents still gasping._

_Ironhide couldn't help but frown as he watched her optics blink rapidly. There was no doubt in his mind that she was damaged internally and heavily. Her vents had been hissing ever since the mech had pulled her unconscious form from what used to be one of the Autobot’s bases. Apparently, there had been a spy amongst them, who made short work of the secret that there were Autobot femmes within the building. They were with the few sparklings that hadn’t been casualties from a small family center called Lusion. It had been one of the last true care centers on the planet._

_“How you holdin’ up?” asked the mech as he slowly started to pull himself upward, his joints groaning as they demanded more rest._

_The pink femme’s optics fell on him, her vents trembling for a moment._

_“Could be better. I swear that every ‘Con on the field was shooting at me. I used to be a bit irritated with my small size. It sometimes caused relationship issues. Now I can only thank Primus for how small I am; makes me a smaller target to hit,” she whispered, laying her head against the metallic steel flesh of her world, her optics still tracing over the larger mech. This mech that was supposed to be her current protector._

_Despite it all, Ironhide felt himself laughing through his vents, his optics dimming and glad for such a simplistic moment on the battlefield._

_“You’re lucky, you know that,” said the femme, her optics flickering as she struggled to stay out of recharge, her battle ready to give in to a soft slumber despite the sound of fliers scourging_ _overhead._

_“How’s that?” asked the older being as his smile faded somewhat. “We are both in a hole in the middle of nowhere, covered in grime and our own energon.”_

_She was silent, her mouthplates moving as if trying to grasp some great word from the universe. Then, in almost a whisper, she stated sadly, “Primus made you a mech.”_

_He didn’t get to inquire as to what she meant by that, as just then there was a hum of powerful engines. Only one beast made that kind of sound. Only one monster would throw death from the sky. Yet, as he looked upward, praying it was one of theirs, a light fell from the sky like an unholy arrow. Ironhide only had time to offline his optics and feel his frame being engulfed in the fingers of flame. He wasn’t sure what happened. He felt the explosion, felt it sear at his armor, melting... He was sure that he just didn’t want to remember… He wasn’t sure that he could._

Ironhide kept his optics off as he was dragged from his dreams of older days. He was having a lot of those lately; perhaps, he should mention it to Ratchet. Yes, he most definately should mention it to the harpy. But why could he still hear the huff of panicked vents? Wait. He wasn’t in recharge anymore, was he?

With a whine of his engine, he sat up as quickly as he could, thinking that when he onlined his optics the femme would be there with an outstretched hand, asking him to save her. His sight quickly filling with the image of artificial lighting told him otherwise. He was in a medical bay; there was no doubt about that. The pain radiating up from his chest to his neck told him that much, but … those weren’t his vents panting. Whose were they?

A groan of irritation escaped the larger mech as he turned his head to the left, ready to gripe at whoever had installed that dream in his head with that pestering noise. Yet, as the colors bled into what was perceived as reality, the mech started suddenly as his vision beheld a pink femme. He quickly blinked, his optics becoming painfully bright when the femme was replaced by another being.

What … what?

What he saw was a young, yellow, being. For a shivering second, he sat there, unsure of what to think. Why had he related this panicking youngling strapped to the berth beside him, probably panicking because he was in the medical bay, with that femme from so long ago? The old being just stared, a groggy feeling pulling at his CPU as he struggled to recall why he would think such a thing about his Bumblebee.

“’Bee… calm down. Don’t go stress’in yourself out with those restraints. If the Hatchet’s got yah, he ain’t goin’ to be letting you go,” grumbled the older mech as he raised a hand to his head, lying back down as he tried to remember how the pit he got there.

A whine escaped the femme in disguise as she struggled fruitlessly against her restraints. H-how could he say that? He was her guardian. He was supposed to keep her safe. M-maybe she shouldn’t have told Ironhide. Maybe he wasn’t as fatherly as she had thought.

A choking sob escaped the femme as she turned her head away from the older mech, whining escaping her engine. The older mech lay there, staring at his sobbing youngling. What had he said? Primus, his chest ached and his head hurt, but it seemed that Bumblebee finally was having that breakdown that everyone had been betting on for vorns. With a grumble, he slowly helped his ragged body down like a half asleep zombie and went over to the kid to see if he could help him in his sufferings. His mind was still slow, so he wasn’t sure he’d be of much help. But, he’d try. The only thing he could think to do was to take one of his stiff hands and pat Bumblebee’s lower arm in a comforting gesture.

“Hey, hey, calm down. It’s just an exam, not the end of the world. What do yah’ want to do … fend off the Hatchet?” said the still groggy mech, his CPU repeatedly telling him through the aches of his body that the femme half-dream had been important.

Bumblebee's engine all but screamed as she looked up at her caretaker, her one optic still slightly cracked from Ironhide’s punch. She had a betrayed look in her gaze, a wild look like she had to get away and lick her wounds. Primus, Bumblebee’s optics looked just like Arcee’s the last time he’d seen her … one cracked optic and so much, ever so much, pain.

“P-please, Ironhide. I thought you would understand. I thought you understood. Please don’t let Ratchet touch me. Please don’t tell them I’m a,” the youngling all but whispered the next word, “femme.”

Oh yeah … Commence crashing down of world in three… two… one...

Bumblebee soon regretted her words as Ironhide’s optics almost burned an unholy white, and the next thing she knew the same cheek that the older mech had punched, was slapped. Slapped?! The femme didn’t know if she should be confused, thankful it wasn’t a punch again, or insulted that the mech had slapped her instead of punching her like he did when he thought ‘Bee was a mech. Not that it really mattered; the larger mech was now all but suffocating her as he pulled her into a protective hug, the restraints falling way like old stones.

“Damn kid,” whispered the black being into ‘Bee’s audio as he squished the youngling’s shoulders, wishing he could show the agony in his spark. “Where do yah’ get off hiding something like that from me, huh? You think I wouldn’t care, huh? You think I wouldn’t have protected yah! Huh? HUH? Answer me, kid!”

Bumblebee was trying not to cringe as Ironhide’s grip became almost painful and his voice slowly turned into a growl. He was mad. He was relieved, but boy was he mad. Not that she could blame him; if someone dropped that kind of bomb on her after so many vorns, ‘Bee would be pissed too. That didn’t stop her from whining in her vocalizer though.

A sigh escaped the older mech as he slowly pulled out of the hug, his grip still tight on her shoulders. Ironhide didn’t want him to run away like he always did when he … um, she … got into a personal situation she didn’t like. It was just something that was Bumblebee. She would linger when it was bright and happy, she’d fight with one nasty sting for her size, and she’s leave when there were no flowers. Huh, it never occurred to the older mech until just then that perhaps the kid chose her human name for more relevance than her paintjob and bubbly attitude.

For a cold moment, he just looked over the youth, looking for any sign that he must have missed to overlook that fact that his little ‘Bee was a she. Why-why would she hide herself like that? She would be a beautiful femme, and with her happy-go-lucky attitude, she would have had more than a few young mechs after her spark…not that he’d let any of them near her without his okay first.

Another sigh escaped the Weapons Specialist’s vents, as he squeezed and released the femme’s form. She kept her gaze anywhere but Ironhide’s face. The Weapons Specialist didn’t know what say. Half of him didn’t believe it and wanted to have her prove she was a femme, but he knew that wasn’t necessary. All these little tid-bits of information were slowly falling into place like a puzzle that just had its lost pieces found and retrieved from between the sofa pillows. Her jumpy youth before her upgrades, her agitated attitude when anything in the nature of interfacing was brought up, her unwillingness to get repaired, and her utter and total lack of any kind of relationship that threatened to step over the boundary of friends. It just made far too much sense to be a lie.

“What did I do wrong? Why didn’t I deserve to know?” asked the mech softly, the pain of the situation evident.

Bumblebee’s head shot up, her optics almost burning. A whine dragged from her vocalizer and she pulled away from him slightly before whispering, “You wouldn’t understand.”

The femme then cringed away slightly, thinking another slap was coming on. When she was left without any feeling but his hands on her shoulders, she looked upward. Oh, she didn’t like that look at all. W-was Ironhide going to start to cry? The youth slumped forward with a clang, her head falling between her caretaker’s shoulder and arm. What was she supposed to say? She didn’t trust him? She was scared of being touched by anyone? Scared of him at times?

The femme buried her head deeper into her caretaker’s neck, her hands wrapping around his waist as she listened to his spark. Hers was withering in its casing, but the coolant was keeping her calm. This might be the last time she had with her caretaker... just as well make the best of it. She’d be leaving him tonight, as well as her dear Sam. She wished she could truly say goodbye, but this lingering hug and words of truth were all she would be able to offer. Then, it was to the stars, to a place where there were no mechs to tempt her spark, or threaten her with a consuming heat or desperation. She would take X-bot where there would be no one to capture her. Away they would go, lost to the cosmos, but first a little closure for her admirable caretaker.

“I’m sorry, Ironhide,” she whispered softly in his audio, pain in her voice. “But … is it so wrong to be scared, to be sickened of this thing in your chest? At least you got to choose to be an Autobot … I had no choice in being a femme.”  The femme hissed with a sick vengeance as she continued, “I had no choice but to do what I needed to do. My creator put this armor on me and whispered into my audio, 'Little femmes suffer in this time of war, child, it is best to be a mech.'”

“Is it so wrong to be scared, Ironhide?!” Bumblebee all but screamed, her fingers digging into his armor, knowing that she might start drawing energon if she got any deeper into the seams. “Is it wrong to be scared?”

The youngling had no idea where all this hate was coming from, but it was welling up in her chest like a hurricane about to go aground. All the frustration of being this … thing, of being unlike everyone else and suffering like a secondary citizen because of it. She couldn’t love, touch, or feel. Hiding was her world. Her rage would not hide today, however. With a grunt, Bee pushed her caretaker away, making his back crash harshly against the back of his berth. He could only stare at her in surprise.

“I was scared all the time, Ironhide! You act as if you are the one in pain. What of me and my suffering? I couldn’t even get repairs without weighing up the choice of my freedom or life! So, what right do you have to question me?!” her voice seemed to almost short out as her anger started to boil. “What would you know? What would you know? You aren’t going to be somebody’s bitch! You are not going to be thrown onto someone's berth and have someone slam their interface units into yours over and over and over again until your insides bear fruit.”

The femme violently used her arms to push away from herself in thin air, gesturing a birthing, her optics full of hate as she stared at the surprised mech before her, wishing she had tears to shed as she started to click in a sobbing manner. How could he act as if she had been the one to wrong him? Turning away from her long companion, the youth all but screamed into her knees as she pulled them up to greet her chest. Why did it have to be this way? Why did the Allspark hate her so? Had she offended Primus in some way that he had created her merely for the purpose to suffer? What had she done to deserve this punishment?

Ironhide remained where he had been pushed, shoulder aching and his back sore as he watched his little femme scream into her hands. Primus, he wasn’t sure what to do. He had comforted many mechs when they had lost companions and mates to the battlefield, but never had he comforted a child from themselves. What was he to say? What should he say? Wh-what?

A sigh escaping his vents, the old mech moved forward, arms draping themselves over the mourning being. He placed his helm on top of her helm, rubbing her back slightly; his sensors noted just how cold her systems were. So, he continued to hold her, feeling her spark patter in panic with his chest so close to hers. The old soldier had held her a hundred times and never had he thought of that spark in her chest over the being in his arms. His vents let some air out in a shivering manner. He wanted to say a thousand things to his charge, but he didn’t know if he dare. He might not be able to keep any promises he may make. After all, Ironhide had just found out about her secret, and he was already thinking differently of her.

All he knew was that he had to take this one step at a time. One step at a time, and the first step he was sure Bumblebee wouldn’t like. But the first step was always the hardest, wasn’t it?

Slowly, the black mech pulled away, looking down at the femme that had stopped sobbing, only soft shivering sobs escaping her vocalizer. He rubbed her shoulders for a moment, trying not to look too closely at her body. He couldn’t help but wonder if he would continue to know his ‘Bee in this form much longer.

“You let enough of those feelings out, kid?” asked Ironhide, his joints tightening as he readied himself for the words to come.

A small sniffle escaped the youngling as she nudged closer to her guardian, begging for more comfort.

“Good. Now, we need to go talk to Optimus Prime. He should..."

Ironhide twitched again, body trembling terribly as it tried to get used to the new parts in his systems from the recent repairs, especially when trying to keep the young femme from running away again, which she was now trying to do with renewed vigor. She was angry at him for what he was saying, there was no doubt about that, but he had to do something. She struggled to free herself, but keeping her in his grasp was a definite must. There came a time in everyone’s lives that they had to face the truth … and today was one of those days.

XXX

Ratchet was trying not to smile. Now, the news at the meeting had been grim, but it was still good news and even better news when Optimus had asked Ratchet and Prowl to remain afterwards. It seemed that he didn’t have to seek out his Commander after all. His confession to Optimus had been taken to spark about Prowl’s health and after some firsthand observation on the field, the commander decided that the tactician was over stressed. So, despite the betrayed look that had carved itself into the Second in Command’s optics, Optimus had pushed it off, telling Prowl that it was best to have him in full working order with such a big battle at hand.

“So,” said Ratchet, as they made their way down the hall, the medic noting that the enforcer had taken on a slower pace than usual, “How has the ache been? Have you been getting any recharge?”

Prowl, who was strangely trying to keep his gaze on the floor, wanted to reply that he had been getting a sufficient recharge, but he would be going against his principles to say such a lie. He hadn’t been able to find any relief since the ache had started. In fact, he had found himself sickened at night, his systems forcefully removing any contents of his tank as memories would flood his CPU, along with the fear of another dream. He knew that Ratchet was going to have him for the whole week, so the medic was soon to find out about his energy conversion problems soon enough, so the SIC found no reason to tell him. Besides, there was no point in saying anything if Ratchet knew to bring up such a specific point anyway.

Ratchet finally brought his hand over, trying to exercise one of his weaker characteristics as a medic, giving comfort to his patient. He then smiled as Prowl stopped and gave him a pained look, his optics shivering. Again, the medic tried to be reassuring and put on a soft smile; Prowl was all but begging him for some relief in that gaze. It was a proud look, but relinquishing as well.

“It’s alright Prowl. Tonight I’ll give you some sedatives if the ache is too demanding, but first I want you to intake something. I can tell from here that your engine is stressed. Then, we’ll take a look at that spark of yours, alright?” said Ratchet, his mind wandering back to his other patients. Maybe he’d give Prowl some sedatives after a cube and check the youngling first. Smart viruses could be nasty once they discovered they had been found out.

Prowl felt his spark ache and instinctively put his hand on his chest as they continued to walk forward, his optics brightening as he noticed a scan falling over him. He didn’t have to look over at Ratchet to know that the medic had seen his small action. He couldn’t help it. His spark would always wither in its casing when any thoughts of the lost spark bond came to mind. He was so tired. Maybe he could convince Ratchet to skip the examination for now and allow him to rest. Primus, even when he had nearly worked himself into the ground he had never felt this tired.

“Whatever you think best,” replied the tactician, unsure of what else to say.

“Well, I do know best,” grumbled the mech as they turned the corner, his audios nearly shorting out as he heard screaming coming from the medical bay. His shoulders slumped forward slightly. He knew that screech almost better than Starscream's. It was Bumblebee. Who else?

Grabbing a now surprised Prowl by his wrist, he ran forward with one intent in mind: tackling Bumblebee before he could get out of the base. Yet, the closer he got to the doors, the more evident it became that the kid was still in the medical bay. Taking a short turn into the medical bay, Prowl all but plowed into Ratchet’s back when the medic came to a sudden stop. The CMO just couldn’t help but blink as he stood stock still, Prowl glaring at him as he pulled himself away slightly.

Ratchet couldn’t help himself. His logic center had almost shorted out. Ironhide was actually helping him, for once, keeping the kid in the medical bay. At least that was what it looked like. Ironhide hated the medical bay so much himself; he never made the kid stay for his own health. Yet here he was actually trying to restrain the kid to the berth. Well, this was something to be noted in Ironhide’s psych evaluation.

“Don’t you dare let that youngling go,” came a growl from the medic as he looked away from the struggling youngling and his caretaker.

He gave a humored gaze to the glaring tactician who now had a slight dent on his chest. Shrugging his shoulders, the medic put a hand on the suffering being’s shoulder as he led him to a far off berth that was meant for long term observation. Prowl came along, his engine whining. Personally, Ratchet wanted to get the struggling youngling done with, but after observing just how stressed Prowl’s engine was after that short sprint, he decided otherwise. Prowl was far worse for wear that he had thought, and it hadn’t even been that long since the ache had set in. Primus, he was glad Optimus kept his word, or there might be not only be an open slot for Third in Command but a new one for Second in Command as well.

“Get on the berth,” stated the worried medic as he pointed to a berth that was just out of sight from the other patients. Prowl did has he was commanded, his engine heaving a soft sigh as it was relieved of labor.

The medic merely nodded, glad to have a compliant patient for once, and then pulled a cord from the underbelly of the medical berth. He tilted the tired looking mech’s head slightly and then a soft click filled the room.

“I’ll get a cube for you in a nano-second. Just let the computers do a system analysis while I check on my panicking youngling,” said Ratchet. Prowl’s optics merely dimmed in acceptance, his body moving to the side to take some stress off his wings.

Then, with a sigh, the medic’s frown returned as he headed over to the youngling who was now all but clawing at his caretaker, cursing him with words a youngling shouldn’t know, and trying to get away as the older mech whispered something in the youth’s audios. Ratchet didn’t even waste a moment in pushing the yellow being back onto the berth while throwing a glare over at the conspirer.

“Get back on your berth, Ironhide. I don’t want you moving till I’ve had the time to examine your repairs,” Ratchet commanded.

The medic then turned his gaze down to the small mech on the berth. The youngling was staring up at him with this look of pure horror. Ratchet merely put on an irritated expression as he looked down at the frightened youth, forcing him to lay back down on the berth completely with a gentle shove.

“And, you … Calm down before I sedate you. You still have to finish your virus scan so don’t rip out the cord, then I want to examine that wound and probably give you a full exam while you’re in here. I don’t think I’ve ever given you a full exam, now that I think of it. You were always kicking too much, and just so you know, you are perhaps the soul reason I put restraints on every berth.”

The medic sighed as that petrified look continued to fill the yellow being’s expression. With a whine of his engine, Ratchet tried to put on a reassuring smile, knowing that the youngling might be excited by the news he was about to give him and calm down, “I haven’t gotten to look under your chassis, but it seems to me that you might have come of age behind all of our backs. You might be able to try some high-grade. How does that sound?”

The medic tried to keep that encouraging smile on, even though, if it were possible, the youngling looked even more petrified than before. Well, that was disappointing. When he had informed Windcharger, Cliffjumper, and the twins that they had come of age, they all seemed excited. Well, the twins were just excited that they could now drink their room-brew in public, but they were still excited. That reminded him… He’d have to raid their stash to make sure they weren’t poisoning themselves like that one time.

Yet, he really didn’t get to dwell on that when the youngling on the table all but rolled off and started to make a run for it. Ratchet, more than used to this, merely grabbed the youngling by the back of his elbow, making the youth yip as he flew back against the berth. Then, before Bumblebee could even start to scream and kick, Ratchet had him back on the berth and strapped down like some sort of wild animal.

“Don’t know what’s wrong with you, youngling. I give you some good news for once and you act like I just gave you a death sentence. I better give your CPU a check while I’m at it. Now, stay still while that virus scan finishes,” said Ratchet with a bit of vengeance, smacking the kid across the helm for good measure.

He then walked away and headed for the energon dispenser, Prowl still on his mind. A cube quickly found itself nestled in the medic’s hand, but he stilled when a shadow fell over the rapidly-filling container. He sent a glare to the being over his shoulder, not in the mood to be interrupted with his work.

“I thought I told you to get back on the berth,” hissed the medic, ready to pull out his wrench and knock a good one into the Weapons Specialist’s cranium.

“That will have to wait,” said Ironhide, the frown on his facial plates stating that this was all business. “I need to talk to Optimus, and I don’t want you touching the kid till I’m back, you got that?”

A growl escaped medic as he pushed his face into the black soldier’s face, a low growl escaping him, “Whose medical bay do you think this is, Ironhide? It. Is. Mine. I’ll do whatever I please in it. If I want, I could turn you and the kid into matching refrigerators. Now, I will let you go talk to Prime, being that he needs to know what happened with Starscream, but I want you back in here after you’re done." As Ratchet's attention was captured elsewhere, he said to Ironhide, "And take that with you!” as he pointed towards something on Bumblebee's berth.

Ironhide heard a squeak from the kid’s direction and his optics couldn’t help but brighten as he turned to see what had made the sound. Surprisingly enough, it was Sam and it looked like the young human was trying to loosen the restraints on Bumblebee’s arms. The black Cybertronian sighed slightly, nodding as he walked over to the yellow femme, not looking her in the optic as he plucked the fuming human teenager from her rescue. He didn’t like this either, but she needed to be protected. He was going to protect his Bumblebee and the only way to do that was to make sure Prime knew. Ironhide would take care of his charge just as he had promised to all those vorns ago. Nothing about that had changed, just circumstances in how the youngling needed to be protected.

Ratchet merely watched the older mech go, his optic ridge rising as the being passed out the doors without another word. Was it him or did Ironhide seem to be pouting? Ugh, the youngling must have said something really hurtful with all that yelling that was going on earlier. Not his problem at the moment, though. Since he had a spare berth, he just as well fill it.

“Wheeljack!” called the medic over his comm. link. “Get your aft down to the medical bay; I need to run a virus scan on you!”

XXX

Sam struggled for a few minutes, trying to squirm out of Ironhide’s hand so he could attempt to make another dramatic escape plan. It had taken him forever to get down from the table with just one good arm, but when he found out that Ironhide knew about ‘Bee’s secret and wasn’t groping her, he felt better. Boy was he wrong, though. In fact, things couldn’t be worse! Ironhide was off to Prime’s office. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

“How could you,” the boy finally said, his struggle stopping as he looked upward towards his captor. “She trusted you and this is how you treat her, by betraying her!”

Ironhide was silent for a while, his optics forward as he continued down the halls in a soft pace. A rush of hot air escaped his vents, ruffling the human’s hair.

“Do you think I want to be doing this? It will be vorns until ‘Bee forgives me,” said the mech in almost a sad tone as he continued forward, the dull lights overhead throwing them between shades of white and grey from time to time.

A growl escaped the human as he stared up at his keeper, his fist suddenly coming down on the huge thumb holding him in place. A yip quickly filled the air and the Weapons Specialist couldn’t help but halt as he watched the human whimper and drag his hands into his chest. The mech threw a scan over the human, blanketing him in blue for a moment. He didn’t have the sensitive scanners Ratchet did, but he could tell that the human hadn’t seriously hurt himself, no broken bones.

“You should be careful of your cast,” stated the older being as he continued forward, his mind struggling to keep him from stalling.

Part of him didn’t want to face Prime with this news. He wanted to make sure nothing ever hurt his youngling again, emotional or otherwise, but he had to let go and allow things to take their course. Hiding like that had to be unhealthy anyway. He knew femmes were virtually identical to mechs, with only a small added addition once a femme was put into her youngling upgrade. It was that added addition that gave a visual reference to Cybertronians on who were mechs and who were femmes. Since 'Bee was in hiding, his youngling upgrade made him look like a mech. That wasn’t important, though.

The important thing that Ironhide knew was that a femme's spark needed some type of special care when they came of age. The timing couldn’t have been more impeccable. If Ratchet was right, she might have just come of age and ‘Bee was now going to get the proper care she needed. He hated to think of how the kid was going to act when Ratchet finally lifted that chassis of hers up, her spark probably greeting another Cybertronain for the first time with its light. She’d probably be screaming and kicking the whole time. He wasn’t looking forward to that. She had kept that secret for a long time and it was bound to be painful when the scab covering that wound was finally removed, but it needed to heal properly. There was no way that keeping a secret like that was going to be good for a youngling. There was no doubt in his mind that Ratchet was going to focus on her mind just as much as her body after the beans had been spilled. Ugh, today was going to be a hard day.

“You listening to me?” asked the human sadly, his brown orbs burrowing into the mech. “Bumblebee doesn’t want this. Her screams alone should tell you.”

“She doesn’t know what she wants. I know what’s best for her,” said the older mech as he drew closer and closer to the hall that led down to Optimus’s office.

A growl escaped the fleshling and he hissed, “Best for her? No you don’t! She doesn’t want to be a femme. She doesn’t want to interface with anyone! She’s happy just the way things are, hidden. Why can’t you see that?”

Ironhide’s optics brightened at the word ‘interface’. It seemed that the youngling had been telling the human a lot. A lot to the point that he felt a little insulted that she’d share such intimate conversations with a being she had barely just met instead of someone she had known for vorns; someone like him.

“Every youngling’s scared of their first interfacing. It’s normal,” replied the elder, remembering slightly how nervous he had been his first time. It was something one just never forgot.

“What! Maybe nervous, but petrified?!” yelled the human, restraining himself from punching the metal once again.

“It’s normal to be scared of new experiences,” growled the Weapons Specialist. “Were you not scared during your first interf- um – breeding experience?”

The human squeaked, drawing back as a blush covered his face. Mikaela wanted it to be special, so he had agreed to wait as well. Not that Ironhide needed to know that. So, the human just remained silent.

“Tuh, never bred, have we? Well, your opinion is invalid, then,” grumbled the mech as he came to a halt in front of a sliding door. The human didn’t even get to come back with a witty response when the door slid open, revealing its contents to the two travelers.

Optimus sat at his desk, his optics downcast as he read over a file in his hands. The leader looked up with an almost surprised energy, a smile creeping on his face.

“I’m glad to see you well so soon, my friend,” said the blue and red mech as he motioned for Ironhide to take a seat. The elder did so, noting in the back if his CPU that it wasn’t as comfy as Hound’s chair.

“I need to talk to yah, Prime. It’s of the sensitive nature,” said the Weapons Specialist, not really caring that the human in his hand was all but glaring daggers at him. The black mech merely placed the squishy on Prime’s desk as if he were little more than some type of small contraband.

A dimming of his optics was the Prime’s first reaction before he leaned forward, placing his hands upon his desk. He knew what this was about. It was hard not to notice. Also, the coming battle depended on it.

“So, you noticed as well?” asked the commander, an optic ridge rising as he observed just how flabbergasted Ironhide seemed at his reply. What? Was it really that hard to miss? It was as if the being in question had had their chassis open for the past few days. It was kind of hard to overlook.

The Weapons Specialist moved his mouth, yet no sound found itself fit to grace the air with its attendance. Had it really been so easily noted by his commander, while the idea that Bumblebee was a femme hadn’t even crossed his mind as a logical thought? She hid it so well, almost faultlessly, but here was his commander with the answer on his glossa without even a moment’s hesitation. Nothing else to say, the mech came to the question at hand.

“So, what are we going to do?” asked the elder mech, almost afraid of what the answer might be.

Ironhide didn’t want to hurt Bumblebee, nor did he want her in a cage, but-but what else were they supposed to do? Allow this adolescent lie about what her gender was? The truth may hurt his little femme for a while, but sometimes as a caretaker, that’s just something you have to accept when raising the young. Sometimes you had to make them do things they didn’t want to do. If that meant that she couldn’t be alone at Sam’s anymore, then that was just something she would have to accept. Ironhide had accepted a lot of things in his life that he didn’t like, but the universe is not a kind mistress. She gives and takes from all; none are spared from her gaze, or her wrath.

Prime leaned back as if thinking it over quickly, before simply saying, “Well, mostly Ratchet’s going to take care of it, over night and that, but I’m sure he’ll want our help in observation as well.”

Ironhide’s optics nearly shorted out as his mind went to the Pit, an image of Ratchet over a panting ‘Bee filling his head. The medic’s hands running up and down her legs as she whimpered that she wasn’t ready yet, but too overwhelmed by her spark's anticipation, allowing him to ravage her during her first interfacing. Despite himself, the elder mech found himself on his feet and slamming his fist into the table, his dentals bared as a growl escaped his vocals. The commander merely drew back slightly in surprise as he stared at the frightened human on his desk and the dents that were now a new decoration to his usually pristine workplace.

“I can’t let yah’ do that Prime,” came a hiss from the Weapons Specialist as his fists shook, causing a metallic screeching sound against the desk top.

A huff drew itself from Prime as he pulled himself to his full height, knowing full well that he could take the elder being down if he had to. Then, with a commanding tone that drug itself over the room with a cool defiance, the leader stated, “Prowl’s health comes before your personal opinion about spark-blocks, Ironhide. I know you still hold out hope for Chromia since they never found her body, but Jazz’s body is down in the spare hanger. Don’t let your personal problems hurt the whole team. You will help take the position of a tactician if Prowl’s health does not improve.”

Okay … They were on two complete conversations, weren’t they? Ugh, he didn’t know if he should be thankful or worried. After all, he was back to step one and confused as hell on why they needed a tactician to capture just Starscream. Not that he got to voice his confusion as the human stepped in and took advantage of the situation. Humans could be such sneaky little bastards like that. See one weakness, they take advantage of it for all it's worth.

“Yah, Prowl! That’s who we came in here to talk about. Ironhide was feeling insecure. Can I go back to the medical bay, now? My-uh-arm hurts. Ow-e!” exclaimed the human as he pointed towards the door with his good hand. “Now that would be totally great. In fact, I think you should make us both go back. Ratchet said he wanted a check-up on ‘Hide, but Ironhide ran off all like ‘no way doc bot.' So, don’t take offence Optimus, there’s just probably something wrong with Ironhide’s head.”

Prime stared at the human, confusion threatening to invade his face. He hated it when the human rambled like that. It was hard to dissect what the individual was trying to really ask for. But one thing was for sure, human language would never cease to be colorful.

“All right, Sam. I’ll take your word. Ironhide has always been a sparkling when it came to medical care,” said the leader, giving the black soldier an irritated look. “Come on Ironhide. I’ll escort you back.”

“What. No, Prime I need to tell you something important,” said Ironhide as his commander got out of his chair, all but pushing the smaller mech out of the door.

“You can tell me on the way to the medical bay, Ironhide. You know you worry me something terrible when you ignore your medical needs, and you wonder why Bumblebee is so flighty; he got it from you,” said Optimus, a small smile forming on his lips.

This was bringing back memories, times when he felt in control and the universe wasn’t tumbling down around him. True, it was a memory that could only be birthed during a war, but it was something that was always in his control. He could always worm himself into Ironhide’s presences and then simultaneously drag him to the medical bay. It was a controlled truth in his ever changing life and he was glad to have it. Optimus had been suffering a lot lately, more than he let on.

Jazz.

Cybertron.

The femmes.

The Allspark.

His brother.

They were all gone and part of him wondered if he should be with those things as well, lost to the universe and its every weaving web. But, today seemed like it was going to be an easy day, a calm day that his spark needed, despite all the bad news that was soon to be crashing down on him. He needed to catch his breath before he was forced back under water.

 

 

 


	15. Midnight Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my Beta, Litahatchee
> 
> \- Internal communication link -

“Here you go, Prowl,” said the medic as the tactician slowly sat up on the berth, taking the cube from the offering hand.

 

Prowl stared at the cube with a slight bit of contempt. He was making sure to memorize the color; he was probably going to be seeing it again later tonight, not that it mattered either way to Ratchet. Even if he did admit his tank problem now, the medic would still make him drink it. It was just as well to get it over with. If Prowl was lucky, the medic might take pity on him and give him the sedative so that he wouldn’t be online and able to empty his tank. His wing twitching as if looking at human cough syrup, the tactician threw his head back and swallowed it all in a single swig.

 

“Take it easy, Prowl. The energon ain’t going anywhere,” said Ratchet as he eyed the enforcer for a moment, wondering if it was wise to give the mech energon before giving him an exam. The mech was already looking... He’d hate to quote a human word, but it fit in this case. Prowl was already looking green and ready to empty his tank.

 

“You feeling alright, Prowl?” added the medic as he dragged a tray next to the berth, his hands landing on a scanner when, suddenly, there was a voice from the corner.

 

“Excuse me, Ratchet. Not to bother you or anything, but I’ve been lying on this berth for awhile now, and I want this virus gone as quickly as …”

 

Twack!

 

A dry scream echoed over the room as Wheeljack fell back against his berth, clutching his head where the flying wrench had just hit him. He knew it had been dumb to ask the Hatchet to rush in his work, but he was getting a hot feeling in his spark again; probably because he was right next to the squirming youngling. Perhaps the virus hadn’t had time to download all its programs and was telling him to finish its download, but he not going to give in to the urge to plug back into the youth. The strange thing was that he hadn’t felt this exact same ‘demand’ when he had been around the youth afterwards. It was as if there was some type of new circumstance. Maybe it was because it seemed that the youth was now physically showing the effects of his virus. It didn’t seem too bad: a little over-heating and paranoia. It wasn’t like it was killing Bumblebee, at least.

 

“Sit up slagger. I really need to look over Prowl,” came a voice from beyond the fingers covering Wheeljack’s optics. Slowly, he revealed his glass orbs, a little intimidated by the frowning being standing over him.

 

“Sorry to interrupt yah Ratchet, but after getting a look at Bumblebee,” Wheeljack threw a quick glance at the panicking youth. “I really don’t want to go through that.”

 

Ratchet sighed in defeat. He’d hate to admit it, but if Bumblebee’s mental state was actually over a virus, it was best to stop it in its tracks before it got more than one victim in its grasp. Reaching for another cord from the computer consul between the two berths, Ratchet pulled one out. Then, with quick fingers, he ran a digit over the back of Wheeljack’s neck, willing the armor to slide to the side and reveal a jack. There was a silent click and the engineer laid down, offlining his optics.

 

“Thanks Ratchet. I’ll just lie here till you’re done,” said Wheeljack as his engine started to slow down and enter a partial recharge.

 

The medic merely grumbled about dumb younglings ignoring their checkups, before heading back to Prowl. Once there, the medic couldn't help but realize that the mech looked exhausted and Ratchet couldn’t help but pity him slightly. Coming to a halt over the enforcer’s berth, Ratchet brought down a hand to pat the tactician on the shoulder.

 

“If you think you are going to purge your tanks, let me know,” said Ratchet as he brought his hand over to grab the scanner once more. It wasn’t that he needed another scanner, considering his systems had satisfactory scanners; it was just that he wanted to be able to monitor the enforcer at all times. So, he was placing a piggyback monitor near the spark chamber so he could keep an eye on the mech until he was deemed to be in full heath.

 

Prowl’s optics brightened for a second, embarrassment washing over him as he met Ratchet’s gaze, “How could you tell?”

 

“It is not uncommon for mechs to experience such symptoms with serious spark blocks like yours,” stated the CMO, simply, as he pulled the item up and turned it on, watching how Prowl struggled not to fidget on the table at the sight of it. “Plus, I’ve had my feet purged on enough times to know when to get out of the way.”

 

Prowl’s expression softened slightly when he noted that the Hatchet was actually trying to be a little funny for him, but even if he would have given into his emotions so simply, that thing in Ratchet’s hand was unnerving him. He hadn’t been injured as much as some mechs, but he had been in the military long enough to know almost every tool in the medic’s use. This was a tool he did not know the purpose of, and it was bothering him to some extent. Just what exactly did one do with that tool?

 

“Noted,” stated Prowl simply before asking, “What is that? I don’t recognize that tool.”

 

“I’m not surprised. I, myself, haven’t had to use it in some time. Some mechs handle the … ache … better than others. The worse cases receive monitors so I know how their spark is reacting at all times. It’s a simple operation and you’ll barely be able to tell it’s there,” said Ratchet as the device suddenly buzzed to life, the CMO looking down at Prowl with a comforting smile. “Open your chassis, please?”

 

Prowl was silent, his lip components pulling into a frown, his refusal to do as asked evident.

 

“What’s wrong?” asked Ratchet, wondering, for a horrific moment, that maybe Prowl had done something to his spark. He had heard some horror story cases of mech’s mutilating their spark chamber or placing electronic devices in their spark to punish it if it dared to place itself in a calling-out ache.

 

Prowl offlined his optics, a small click escaping his vocalizer before he managed to hide it. The tactician then dug his fingers into the berth as he turned his dulled optics to meet Ratchet's. His voice was almost shivering as he spoke, “Can’t I just recharge right now, Ratchet? I don’t think I can have your fingers under my chassis so soon after … after …”

 

Prowl’s vocalizer went silent, and he looked away as if ashamed by his weakness. Part of him couldn’t believe he had just asked that of Ratchet. How weak was he that he couldn’t even stand to have the medic’s hands in his chassis? Primus, he wished he could just rest.

 

Ratchet frowned, his scanners falling over Prowl’s still form once more. Primus, he had never seen the tactician looking so vulnerable. Reaching out a kind hand, he gripped Prowl’s shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze, “That’s fine, Prowl. There is no need to be ashamed. How about I give you some sedatives, and we’ll try in the morning, alright?”

 

Prowl’s optics dimmed even more, if that were possible, and, slowly, he nodded his head, his mouthplates threatening to move, “You know best.”

 

“Yes, I do,” stated Ratchet as he placed another weary smile on his face, glad that, at least, Prowl was opening up enough to admit he was vulnerable at the moment. “Now, tilt you head.”

 

Prowl did as was asked of him, and the next thing he knew, the plate near his neck was pushed to the side and he felt the prickle of an injection. Sleep was quick, warm, and welcomed. He prayed he would not be haunted by any ghosts in his dreams. He couldn’t take that right now.

 

Ratchet observed the mech a he quickly offlined. He stood there a minute, making sure that the mech was at rest before his finger’s slowly flowed down Prowl’s chassis. He was going to do the examination in the morning, there was no lie to that, but he was still going to check to make sure that Prowl hadn’t done anything to his spark. Finger’s reaching under the tactician’s armor, there was a click, and soon Ratchet was washed in a soft shivering light.

 

The spark was no longer panicking in the manner it had been before he put on the spark-block, but it was easy to tell that the spark was stressed. In fact, it looked faded; not a good sign. Prowl should have been in the medical bay this whole time and not exerting himself. His spark was weak and in need. It needed someone to answer to it.

 

Ratchet sighed as he ran his hand calmly over the spark chamber in a comforting manner to let it know it was not alone. The spark seemed to lighten, pushing itself up towards the hand in a wanting manner, little jolts of electricity jumping over Ratchet’s fingers. Jazz had indeed been Prowl’s only bond, and, generally, mechs or femmes that lost one bond would call out to their other bonds. Prowl had no others. However, if the fading continued, Ratchet would have to do something. He would probably offer his spark in a brother bond, so that Prowl’s essence wouldn’t fade out of existence. He might also be able to ask Prime, since Prowl had known the leader for so long.

 

A snap filled the room as Ratchet removed his hand and closed Prowl’s chassis. He’d worry about such things in a few days after observing the spark. If it grew in strength, he wouldn’t worry about such things, but he’d still confront Prime just in case things didn’t go well. Either way, Prowl was stable for now, and he had to check on a youngling with a virus...

 

...A clicking, biting, escaping youngling!

 

Ratchet’s optics widened as he watched the tool that he had thrown, just moments ago, being used by the youth to free himself, one arm already free. The sound of running feet filled the medical bay and soon the camaro had freed his second arm, his form sitting up and ripping the cord from his neck as he started to undo his leg restraints. With a slight curse, Ratchet was quickly upon the youth and struggling with him to grab the tool, the only thing keeping the kid on the berth was a single strap around his right ankle.

 

“No you don’t!” growled Ratchet as he struggled to overpower his patient. “Slag you! This better have something to do with a virus or so help me I’m going to have you contained in the Medical Bay until you rust!”

 

Bumblebee merely growled at the medic, freeing one of her hands and dragging it back into what was meant to be a punch, but the medic quickly pulled his head away fast enough to ignore a punch to the face. That opening was all Bumblebee needed, though, to start her escape, the latch on the berth screeching as it snapped, allowing the femme to roll off the berth. Then there was a loud crash as Ratchet and she tumbled to the floor in a mix of curses and metal.

 

A heavy sigh escaped his engines as Wheeljack slowly came out of his partial recharge, an irritated look in his optics as he turned his head in the direction of the noise. What the bloody hell was going on? It sounded like a … oh, it was just that. It seemed that Bumblebee was trying to escape … again.

 

A clang suddenly filled the room as Bumblebee managed to kick Ratchet off and slam him into the wall near the door. Ratchet merely reached up to his head and shook it, his sight returning and finally noting that Wheeljack was on his elbows, his audios half glowing as he watched the medic’s struggle. Finally surrendering to the fact that he wasn’t going to have enough limbs to do this by himself, Ratchet snapped in the engineer’s direction, “Don't just don’t sit there! Help me with this youngling!”

 

Wheeljack sighed; he was probably going to get kicked, but now that Ratchet had brought it to light, when was the last time the youth had a checkup?

 

Wheeljack quickly threw a gaze at the youngling, who was crouched on the floor like a tiger about to strike, his engine growling as Bumblebee probably calculated his chances of escaping. With a grunt, Wheeljack unplugged himself and jumped to the floor, making his way to the door.

 

“You okay, Ratchet? Are you hurt?” asked Wheeljack in a low voice, one thought in his mind: were they going to need a medic for the medic?

 

“Just my pride,” grumbled the mech coldly as he pulled himself up, his optics becoming white-hot embers as he glared at the youth before him, his internal com. link coming to life.

 

\- I think its possible effects of a smart virus. I know Bumblebee has never liked the medical bay, but he’s never fought this hard. Stay in front of the door will you? And call Sunstreaker and Sideswipe to the medical bay from wherever they’ve been hiding. Tell them I need them to help me restrain a patient. – Ratchet commed Wheeljack.

 

\- I don’t know if Bumblebee is going to stand still that long, Ratchet … you did turn off his cannon, right? He looks like he’s desperate enough. – Wheeljack responded through the link.

 

\- I’m Ironhide’s medic, remember? But you are right about the standing still. Maybe, I can restrain him long enough until the twins get here. Just grab him if he gets to the door. –

 

“Bumblebee,” stated Ratchet as he slowly made his way forward, hands out in an offering manner. “You’re not well. It’s probably a virus that’s making you so scared of the medical bay. It’s okay to be scared, but I need you to take my hand and get back onto the berth. Can you do that?”

 

Bumblebee’s engine whined, and he took an uncertain step backwards, his optics darting about as if hoping another door would just spring out of the ground. She looked Ratchet in the optics, her gaze begging, “Please just let me go, Ratchet. I’m not damaged … I … just let me go.”

 

Ratchet shook his head, his frown growing. He could tell that Bumblebee wasn’t trying to upset him, that the kid was just desperate. He needed help. He needed it really bad right now and, as a medic, he would not betray his code and do nothing. So, taking the kid’s desperate plea as a moment of weakness, he lurched forward, arms wrapping around Bumblebee’s waist as he threw them both to the ground.

 

A loud smack filled the room as Bumblebee’s cranium took a violent plunge into the metal floor below. For a minute, the youngling just laid there, his optic shivering as his CPU tried to reassert itself after the brutal hit it had just taken. Ratchet took the camaro’s moment of failing to perch himself on top of the still patient, pinning him effectively as the medic sat on the smaller mech’s waist and grabbed his wrists.

 

Growling in demand, Ratchet yelled at the still sleepy looking Wheeljack, “Don't just stand there, get a sedative for me before he comes to his …”

 

Her head hurt, that was the first thought Bumblebee had as she came out of her stupor. The second thought was that her spark was slamming against its casing in that painfully warm way, but the cool sting of coolant kept its heat at bay. Then there was a new warmth that tingled and purred under her cod piece. It felt nice, like it was anticipating something, that it wanted it to get warmer and hotter until something that seemed to be a pent up force was released.

 

Bumblebee wanted to dwell on that wonderful tingly sensation, but then she realized why there was a tingling sensation as a startup program appeared on her hub. It was asking for permission to start increased circulation in her interfacing units.

 

Wait? What?

 

It was then that the femme finally noticed the weight and the shifting of metal over her hips. Her spark nearly exploded in self-induced thankfulness when she finally realized she was pinned to the floor and Ratchet was on top of her. Fear swelled inside her chest as she struggled to find the last few moments that led up to this.

 

She had been on the berth, struggling to free herself. H-had Ratchet opened her chest and seen her shame, deciding that he should hurry with the species-saving and take her, throwing her on the floor in his hurry? No. No. NO!

 

Ratchet watched as Wheeljack stumbled to the other side of the medical bay. A soft whine escaped the youth as he started to come around. Ratchet knew the screaming and thrashing was soon to come, but first he felt something else...

 

Bumblebee’s cod piece had started to get warm. If Ratchet were still a young mech, he might have been embarrassed by this. But, if he was correct about Bumblebee’s spark development, then this was natural. Any touching of the cod piece of anything that could be considered intimate behavior, such as Ratchet being on top of him, would cause the youngling’s interface units to start up, ready to accept that first crucial download from his partner.

 

Well, if Bumblebee asked for him to be his first, especially since he was a medic and it was an obligation as a medic to offer himself to a first-timer, he would certainly accept. However, he had a feeling that wasn’t what the kid was going to ask when his vocalizer started to warm up...

 

Nope, it was a howl of rage.

 

Ratchet used his strength to keep the camaro to the floor as Bumblebee lurched against him. The youth’s vocalizer was squealing from the effort to release himself as he bucked, squirmed, and lurched against him. The sound almost became unbearable to the point that a part of Ratchet wanted to pull his hands off the yellow mech’s wrists and cover his audios. Where the hell was Wheeljack and that sedative? Was he looking for it on the other side of the base!

 

“Ratchet!” finally came a cry from the medical bay door, causing the CMO to look up and stare upwards at the gapping face of one human, one commander, and one Weapons Specialist that looked like he was about to shoot with the way his optic was twitching.

 

“What are you doing?” asked Optimus, wondering if maybe Ironhide wasn’t the only mech suffering from a sudden case of madness.

 

“Nothing, I’m just – oophf!”

 

Next thing Ratchet knew, one of Bumblebee’s knees came up and caught him in the back, causing him to fly over the youth’s body and crash on the floor, nearly sliding into Wheeljack.

 

Yet, before the engineer could even go ‘yikes, it be a white whale,' Ratchet yelled, “Prime, don’t let that youngling out of the medical bay!”

 

A growl escaped the youth as he rose to his knees, glaring at the medic, but she quickly turned to assess her commander and everyone in the room as if they were a threat. This was not good. Not good at all. It was one thing to escape Ratchet; she had been doing it for vorns, but four other mechs and Prime, no less! Primus, she needed to get out of here, steal a shocked-looking Sam from Ironhide, and somehow get off the planet...

 

Wait…

 

Ironhide? The femme’s optics got bright and her stance dropped a little as a hurt expression overcame her face. H-had Ironhide spoken to Optimus already?

 

Ratchet, noticing that the youth seemed to be distracted by the re-emerging of Ironhide, quickly got to his feet and then rather violently grabbed the sedative from Wheeljack. He would have had Bumblebee already under if he had thought to refill his sedative unit in his arm, but it wasn’t really like he had time once he saw Bumblebee escaping, the little slagger. He just had to do everything the hard way, and the hard way he was going to get.

 

Quickly, sliding the sedative refill into its rightful compartment in his arm, readying himself for another ten patients if he needed too, Ratchet sized up the youth. Attacking from the right, grabbing the youngling by the neck, and sliding the sedative in the higher back shoulder would be the most effective, but the camaro seemed to have regained his senses. Bumblebee was trying to keep his back away from the medic while he was left open to Ironhide and Optimus. Well, the youth shouldn’t be so trusting. Everyone knew that if a medic asked someone for assistance, they pit well gave it.

 

\- Ironhide, I need you to restrain Bumblebee while I administer a sedative – Ratchet said over his internal com. link, his optics brightening as Ironhide’s gaze shot from the frightened youngling to him. Strangely, the mech seemed lost and confused about the request.

 

\- Why? You don’t have to sedate her-im. Let me talk to him real quick. He’s probably just scared. You don’t have to do … -

 

\- He has a smart virus! Of course he’s going to be scared. Prime, I need you to help me since Ironhide won't. Pin Bumblebee’s arms from behind when I get his attention, then I’ll administer a sedative. – said Ratchet, frowning as a hurt look covered Ironhide’s face.

 

The medic didn’t blame him. Bumblebee was his charge, after all, and it was his job to take care of the youth, but that kind of attention was more for the spark than the body. The body was Ratchet’s job, and he knew what was best for it.

 

\- Of course. Just be gentle with him, Ratchet. Fear is a killer of mortals and gods alike – said Optimus as his gaze shifted over to the youth.

 

Once he had gotten Optimus’s approval, the CMO made a quick forward movement at the youth, more for a distraction that to actually capture him. Bumblebee growled and took a step back, bringing up his fists, yet it was a dead threat because two strong hands suddenly came from behind and wrapped around his form, a painful howl escaping the youngling as his arms were pinned and his feet dragged a foot from the floor.

 

“Hold him still, Prime,” said Ratchet simply as he drew forward, listening to the youngling’s vents pick up at an alarming rate. He turned his gaze to the youth. “It’s alright, Bumblebee. Just a little sedative and when you wake up that fear will be gone, just a memory.”

 

Bumblebee severely doubted that. If anything, the fear would increase and be a nightly monster as she’d lay in her berth, wondering if she’d have a nightly visitor or not. In truth, she wanted to thrash, scream, and howl because of that thought, but for some reason she found herself wanting to cry.

 

This was the end of the road, wasn’t it? No more freedoms, no more smooth concrete beneath her tires as the world zoomed past in a sweet high speed bliss. No more blue sky for her optics to gaze upon willingly. No more Sam listening to the radio, the bass sending vibrations through her very spark. No more talking in the rec. room like she was an equal. She would soon be known as nothing more than that femme, everyone else’s femme but never her own. She would soon be property, and the ‘nightly’ entertainment. No more sky, no more earth, no more wind, no more Sam, and no more freedom for this little girl...

 

She couldn’t help it; soft clicking sobs escaped her as she wilted in Prime’s arms, her whole form shivering in a silent agony. Optimus immediately stared at Ratchet as the clicking broke into straight out sobs, her arm squeaking from all the weight of her body shivering against Optimus’s arms.

 

Ratchet tried to shake off the stupor of seeing Bumblebee cry. He had never seen the camaro straight out sob like that. Bumblebee hid most of his emotions, except for his happiness and rage; he was always one or the other. It was as if the other emotions didn’t exist in his vocabulary. It was strange, but Ratchet actually felt bad about what he was about to do. It was his duty, though. It was his duty as a medic.

 

“It’s alright, kid. No need to be scared or afraid. Just a pinprick,” said Ratchet as he went forward the last few feet, resting a hand on the youth’s neck while ignoring his jerky movements.

 

He rubbed the plating for a minute before he slid it to the side. An extra long sob escaped the camaro’s engine. Then, with a quick hand, his finger transformed and the sedative was administered. He pulled away slightly, a soft smile on his face as Optimus’s grip started to loosen, but he barely had time to see the hate in Bumblebee’s optics before the youth head-butted him.

 

Ratchet stumbled back with a surprised yelp, but before his optics could even readjust, he heard Optimus cry out, "Watch out!"

 

Ratchet only got to see the youth swing his legs upward … and then he heard, more than saw, those feet slam into his facial plates, his optics screaming as they were cracked and shattered. Ratchet couldn’t help it; he went down, a short cry in his throat as he covered his face. The rest of the story was short after that. He heard the running of feet, the yells of Prime and Ironhide, followed by a command to Ironhide, and then Prime’s heavy foots disappearing out of the door. Ratchet nearly lashed out with his blades when he felt someone touch him.

 

“Who’s there?!" Ratchet yelled.

 

"It’s me, Ironhide," Ironhide said, "Here, let me see the damage.”

 

Ratchet already knew what was wrong as he removed his hand, energon dripping down the side of his face and in between plates. He had had this injury only once before, but it didn’t hurt any less. The little fragger had taken out his optics. He didn’t know why the frag Bumblebee just did that. Wheeljack knew how to continue an interrupted virus scan. So why the frag had the kid reacted like that? Did he think he was stopping something?

 

A dry sigh escaped Ironhide, the mech leaning down next to him, “Both your optics are cracked. Come on, let me help you to a berth.”

 

Ratchet, lost in his darkness, allowed Ironhide to pull him to his feet, the slightly larger mech wrapping a spare arm around the medic’s waist so Ratchet’s lost equilibrium wouldn’t send him crashing to the floor. Soon, he felt Ironhide stop, so he stuck out a hand, felt for a berth, and sat down on the edge, the Weapons Specialist putting a hand on his shoulder to keep him from falling off. It was a well known fact that after a mech lost his optics, equilibrium could be momentarily lost with such a dependent sense gone.

 

Slowly, he felt the damage and cringed … His optics would have to be removed and replaced.

 

“Ironhide,” suddenly came the voice of Optimus Prime, making Ratchet look up despite the fact that he could no longer see. “How is Ratchet? … Oh. Are you alright Ratchet?”

 

“Little fraggar broke my optics. I’m blind until,” it took some self control not to twitch, the thought of having someone else work on him, “until Wheeljack can replace them. You’re steps sounded heavier, by the way. I take it Bumblebee collapsed?”

 

“Yes, he didn’t even get outside. Where do you want him, Ratchet?” asked Optimus, his heavy footsteps drawing closer.

 

“Wheeljack will show you where the kid was and make sure you plug him in while I … pick out my optics,” added Ratchet with a cringe as one of his fingers pressed against the glass, causing it to shatter the rest of the way, energon dripping down his face in a small spurt.

 

The medic merely growled and started to pick out the pieces, Wheeljack coming to his side with a welder and a small case. Replacing optics was timely, disorienting, and painful … especially when putting the new ones in. Ratchet never knew why no one had ever figured out an easier way than heating up the glass and popping the fraggers in; it would burn like a bitch. The little slaggen camaro better have a virus or he was going straight to the brig.

 

“So,” came a voice that made the medic cringe. It was Sideswipe. “What’d we miss?”

 

Ratchet sighed and said simply, “You see that wrench that should be at your left?”

 

“Yah?”

 

“Throw it at those late slaggers!”

 

XXX

 

“Oh my … This is not good at all, not at all,” said Judy as she came out of the kitchen, a soft clicking noise following her as she entered the living room.

 

Ron looked up, part of him wondering what that desperate sound was, and his face immediately became a frown as he looked at the sparkling that was balanced on Judy’s hip, blankets dripping all around her small metallic form. The soft clicking was coming from the robot-baby, and he might not have been a specialist on the species, but there was no doubt in his mind that that clicking noise was crying.

 

“What’s wrong with her? Is she crying?” asked the man as he rose to his feet, placing his magazine near the lamp stand.

 

He quickly walked over to his wife and looked down into those faded optics, the sparkling looking up at him and clicking a little louder until she buried her head back in Judy’s blouse, thin metallic fingers clinging where they could. Ron, not knowing what else to do, ran a comforting hand over the femme’s head, feeling a warmth bubble in his chest as he did so. He wasn’t sure what this warmth was, but a part of him guessed it was the feeling a grandpa has when taking care of one of his grandchildren. And why not feel that way? In a way his son did bring home a pretty girl, though she may be metallic, that had a baby with her, making the baby all but theirs.

 

“Yah, she’s crying. I’ve tried everything I could so far, but Bumblebee’s not here so I’m not sure what’s wrong. It doesn’t look like she needs an oil drain. She’s not cold, nor is she hot, and I don’t think she’s missing her mommy, I mean caretaker, quite yet because she was napping a few minutes ago. I don’t know what’s wrong,” said the woman in almost a desperate tone, unsure of what else to do but hold the clicking sparkling.

 

“You try feeding her?” asked Ron.

 

Judy’s worried look quickly became one of slight annoyance, “And what do we feed a robot alien baby, Ron?”

 

The man stood there for a moment, not catching his wife’s irritated glare, “I don’t think she nurses since Bumblebee isn’t her real mother … so what was she eating before Bumblebee took care of her?”

 

The two of them were silent, recalling Bumblebee’s slight tale of becoming injured when she was trying to save the sparkling off the street. Then, quicker than lightening, both stated, “To the garage.”

 

XXX

 

Optimus finally laid his head down, his vents pulling in the cool air. That was something he liked about Earth … the taste of the air. It was nearest thing he could ever come to tasting something organic besides tank-upsetting diesel fuel, and Primus was it strangely bitter and sweet at the same time. He missed Cybertron, there was no denying that, but it wasn’t necessarily the planet itself he missed. It was the bots that had once dwelled on it, their laughing vents, and their intertwined limbs with lovers and friends.

 

No, he was glad to taste Earth. If he returned to his scarred and maimed planet, he had a feeling he would only taste misery and death in his vents. He would taste the spilled energon forever more on that planet no matter how often the rare rain would fall.

Earth was a godsend. He didn’t know if he would be able to cope with the nightmares of those scarred lands with the mental stress he was under right now. There were so many things that needed to be fixed, found, or taken care of … but he was just one mech.

 

Yes, he had the Matrix of Leadership pounding its song in his chest, but it too seemed to be stressing him out as of late. He knew it was probably just trying to comfort his panicking spark, much as it would on the battlefield from time to time, but recently its comforts confused him. He knew it was trying to tell him something, trying to calm one of his many worries, but all it did was make him panic all the more.

 

The Matrix’s song had changed, and he had no idea what it was trying to tell him. It wasn’t as if he could just ask counsel from one of the mechs that were with him. Prowl was suffering his own maladies, Ratchet was having security issues with his position as CMO and blind at the moment, and Ironhide was having youngling issues. Three of his oldest and well known companions all had issues of their own right now. He couldn’t break down in front of them when they needed his strength and leadership so badly.

 

The mech rolled over and bowed his head down to his chest, listening to the new song. What was it saying? It had calmed to a gentle hum when Ironhide had entered the room earlier today. Did the tune have something to do with Prowl and the conversation they had about him? Should he ask Prowl about something? Primus, what did it want? He could only take so much before he was driven mad. He had far too many problems to be dealing with, the biggest being the destruction of the Allspark! His people were depending on him to offer them some taste of hope, a promise of the future, but all he had to offer them were empty promises and a dead battle field called Cybertron.

 

Ugh, he needed to recharge. He was going to start to get pulled down like Prowl if the song didn’t let him rest for a moment. Oh … how he wished Elita-1 was here. Her head upon his chest, the soft beating of her spark in her own chest could chase any demons away. The leader shivered, a lost voice and ghost fingers falling onto his chest. He could taste her if he concentrated hard enough. He could taste her sweet lingering touches forever...

 

Clang, clang.

 

...Or perhaps not. He would dwell on Elita after he saw who was at his door. Rising off of his berth, Optimus stared at the door for a moment, light sneaking through the cracks underneath the door like hope trying to crawl into his spark. With a tired ease, Optimus touched the release mechanism next to the door and was surprised to see Ironhide...a worried and upset Ironhide at that.

 

“Prime … I need to talk to yah,” said Ironhide as he stood before the door, his form seemingly melancholy.

 

Optimus forced his back straight and willed back the demand to fall into a crying mass on the ground, telling Ironhide he couldn’t deal with his problem right now, that he had problems of his own. The leader ignored the need, though, and simply guessed what this late night visit was about, “If this is about Bumblebee hitting Ratchet, I understand he was scared. You needn’t apologize for the youth’s actions. It wasn’t as if he did it on purpose … at least I hope he did not. Ratchet hasn’t finished the exam just yet.”

 

Ironhide played with his hands for a moment as if he were nervous about something, not that Optimus really got to dwell on it when, suddenly, the song from the Matrix nearly caused him to fall forward into his Weapons Specialist. The Matrix was practically screaming at him. Tightening his grip on the doorway, Optimus off-lined his optics and pushed the rush back. He then returned his gaze to his nervous companion.

 

“I need … rest … Ironhide. We can discuss this in the morning,” said Optimus as he fought against the demanding thing in his chest. Yet, as he turned to head back to his berth and allow the door to slide shut with its own will, a black hand lashed out and grabbed him.

 

Optimus tried not to flinch, battle programs struggling to come online. He had not been expecting Ironhide to be so demanding. With a dulling of his optics, Optimus gave Ironhide a tired look, demanding at least an explanation to his sleeplessness.

 

“Don’t you want to know why ‘Bee was scared? I can tell you it wasn’t a virus,” said Ironhide, his grip tightening and his optics brightening to a point that it was painful to peer at from the darkness. “I promise yah, Prime. It’s important.”

 

“Well, if what you say is true, Bumblebee will be put into the brig for his … behavior, but since you are here, I will at least allow you to explain why,” said Optimus as he stepped to the side, allowing his old friend to come in. It seemed his worries would have to wait, consuming his spark as they festered.

 

Ironhide felt bad for bothering Optimus; really he did. The leader looked on the verge of offlining where he stood. However, after spending a few hours in the medical bay and listening to Ratchet grind his dentals, he heard about what the meeting was about from the others and the coming battle. Now, if the Allspark still existed, he was sure Optimus would just be a little upset to hear of Bumblebee’s hidden gender, but he would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that she could not be allowed on the battle field.

 

Bumblebee could not die from a war wound. There was just too much weighing on her existence to allow such a thing. Primus, she was going to be angry, but he had promised he would protect her and the best way to do that was to tell Prime. Primus, why was he so nervous? He was acting like a youngling.

 

“Well, what is it?” asked Optimus, a little more pointedly then he meant to.

 

Ironhide rubbed the back of his head in a fidgety way, before he stated simply, “Yah should take a seat Prime … this is going to be a doozy.”

 

Optimus, almost too tired to care, did as he was told, his optics boring into his old friend’s form as he fidgeted a little more. Then, Ironhide’s mouth moved, yet he stopped and this process repeated itself three more times until the older mech sighed and stated, “I think I need to take a seat too, Prime. My logic centers are still having issues.”

 

The Autobot leader merely nodded, the song suddenly starting to rise in volume and pace. It was as if the Matrix was about to reach some mystical climax and Ironhide was the bearer of the news. What could Ironhide possibly know that could put any of his worries to rest?

 

“Well, Prime. I need yah to promise me that you won’t be upset with the kid even if you have to throw him into the brig for hurtin’ Ratchet, alright?” asked the mech in almost a broken manner.

 

Tilting his head as if surprised, Optimus added, “What could Bumblebee possibly have done to truly upset me, Ironhide? He is young. Mistakes are made. I promise not to be angry with him, but if it is as huge of an issue as you proclaim, he will not dodge an extra punishment.”

 

“It’s not that he exactly did anything wrong … It's more of what he didn’t do,” stated the Weapons Specialist as his gaze fell down to the floor, his spark aching slightly.

 

It still hurt, and it would probably ache for vorns to come, but Bumblebee’s distrust of him had hurt him deeply. Primus, he didn’t want to see Optimus’s expression when he said this. Would he be hurt … or relieved?

 

It had not gone unnoticed by the elder mech, but Optimus had been greatly upset since the discussion about the femmes. Their species was going to die out and Optimus, as the surviving leader, was now expected to pull the species together and create a new beginning. There was no doubt that the semi had been suffering sleepless nights, wondering how to save his people. Hopefully, this new responsibility would offer his leader more rest than worry, but Ironhide doubted that. The only reason he had been able to slumber was because it was induced by one cranky-aft medic.

 

“Well, yah remember Bumblebee’s caretaker, right?” asked the elder mech, deciding to lead into this answer slowly.

 

“Shortout? Yes, I remember. She was one of the last known femmes to … depart. She was a wise caretaker, and Bumblebee missed her greatly from what I recollect,” stated Optimus, his mind recalling the youth’s clicks of sorrow as he’d find places to hide on the base, mourning her on his own.

 

It had been a sad time for the youth, but at least Optimus was able to give Bumblebee to Ironhide. Kup was his second choice, but he was sure Ironhide couldn’t handle the spicy nature of the other youngling: Hot Rod. Ironhide probably would have killed Hot Rod, but Bumblebee was docile to a much grander point, so he was appointed to the Weapons Specialist over the old War Horse. It seemed like a good fit at the time, but now part of him was wondering if he should be regretting that action with the way Ironhide was speaking.

 

“Well … It’s just a theory right now, but I think she did something to Bumblebee before the younglin’ came to us,” said Ironhide, softly.

 

Optimus stiffened, praying Ironhide wasn’t about to say what he thought he was going to. It was rare, but not unheard of, for some creators to beat their charges, or even to … interface with the youths before they were ready. Youngling’s could develop irreversible glitches from such acts, and now that he recollected his observations of Bumblebee... The youngling had never asked about self-overloading, listened in on the older mechs’ berth tales, asked the medics embarrassing questions, shown any interest in anyone on base, or anything that could be pertained as sexual that a mech his age should have been experiencing. Not one thing. In fact, he seemed to run from it... Well, that explained a lot, especially why the youth was so paranoid about repairs under his chassis. The poor kid; Optimus could only pray that Ratchet had some Psychology files downloaded on how to deal with this kind of situation.

 

A sigh escaping his vents, Optimus put a hand on his long-time companion’s shoulder, stating, “It was not your fault, Ironhide. Did Bumblebee say at what age he was when the … act … was done to him, or do you have a theory? I’m sure Ratchet will have the files necessary to help with Bumblebee’s problem. It will be hard. I know it will, but now is the time to be strong, for Bumblebee.”

 

Ironhide blinked, his spark skipping with a grotesque feeling as he quickly caught on to what Optimus was talking about. It had happened once before to one of the newer recruits whom nearly offlined himself before he opened up to one of the senior officers as to what had happened and the reason for his actions. That senior officer had been Prime, and the leader never could forget the youngling’s cries as he was taken to the medics … No one in the base could ever forget his wails as the youth was relieved of his aging secret.

 

Swallowing the bitter memory, Ironhide shook his head, “Nah, Prime. Shortout would never do that to the kid. She loved him too much. In fact, I think she loved him too much, wanted to protect him even after she was gone.”

 

A little bit of relief settled in Optimus’s spark. He couldn’t deal with that again … It had broken him more than anyone could know. “What do you mean then, Ironhide?”

 

“You remember her workshop, correct?” asked Ironhide, his voice recalling the room for a moment.

 

The leader merely nodded. A secret part of him had always wondered if Wheeljack and she would have a made a wonderful bond couple. She wasn’t as creative, but at least her stuff never blew up.

 

“You see, Shortout did something to the kid there, from what I can guess,” Ironhide finally dragged his head up and looked Optimus in the eye. “Optimus, Bumblebee is scared because she doesn’t want Ratchet looking at her spark. I don’t know any other way to say this, but Bumblebee is a femme.”

 


	16. Goodbyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thankies to my beta, Litahatchee. :D

Optimus wasn’t sure what to do. For a minute, he just stood there, his chrome shining slightly even though he was completely in the shadows, staring at the new found femme in her cell. He was still trying to decide if he should come forward and confront her or let her rest. Part of him still couldn’t believe what Ironhide had told him. It had seemed so surreal at the time.

_Prime sat there, his body stiff and his mind stalled. He moved his mouth components once, and then said in a confused tone, “What?”_

_Ironhide looked up at him with a pained expression, like he didn’t want to have to say it again, having struggled more than enough saying it the first time. “You heard me, Prime. Don’t make me say it again.”_

_Optimus, face still full of confusion, sat back a little bit more on his berth. The Matrix was calm and pulsing, seeming to agree. No, it couldn’t … There was no way. He had known Bumblebee most of his youngling-hood. There was no way … It just wasn’t … Uh, this couldn’t be …_

_“Are you sure?”_

_Dropping his pained expression, the Weapon Specialist opted for an annoyed look._

_“Yes, she told me in a sobbing mass, Prime,” said Ironhide, his head hanging and his gaze falling to the floor. “It was terrible. I felt sick to my tank when she told me. I mean, I was her caretaker, yet here she was, deathly afraid of anyone finding out what she was... even me. Primus, my spark still hurts if I think of it.”_

_There was a skip in Optimus’s spark, his brother-bond picking up Ironhide’s misery slightly. Not even waiting for permission, Prime reached through the bond to comfort his old friend, Ironhide’s gloom washing over his spark. He quickly consumed the other’s stress with reassurance, his arm reaching out and placing itself on Ironhide’s shoulder. Ironhide merely nodded in acceptance, allowing Optimus to reach forward in an embrace, Ironhide grumbling that it wasn’t that bad but not pulling away nonetheless. It had been a long time since he had indulged in a brother-bond with anyone, seeking it for or to give comfort. It had been even longer since the two of them had even used their brother-bonds for anything more than seeing if the other was dead or alive. The first thing he felt was nothing more than hurt and pain. Optimus almost wanted to pull back and not offer his emotions to the other, but his worry, shame and loss leaked through despite his greatest efforts. One of the downfalls of a brother-bond, he supposed. One couldn’t hide their own emotions during such a time._

_It didn’t last long, though. Soon, warmer feelings began pouring through and a calm set over the room. After a minute, Prime’s free hand reached up and touched Ironhide’s forehead, as if checking for a temperature. The older mech growled and pulled away, irritation coming through the ancient bond now._

 

_“I’m not overheating and delusional, Prime,” said Ironhide._

_Optimus pulled his hand away and then shrugged, “Sorry, Ironhide. It’s just that this is kind of hard to swallow. I need to ask her-him myself.”_

_The frown on the older mech’s face was replaced and worry pulsed through the bond. With a wave of his wrist, he offered a cord to Prime, “Maybe it’s best if I just show you how bad it is with Bumblebee, Optimus. It’s terrible … and I don’t know what else to do.”_

 

He had felt just as sick after he had taken the memories from Ironhide. He, at least, got one small comfort from the memories, though … He had chosen Bumblebee’s caretaker correctly and had nothing to regret in his choice. What he did regret was Ratchet’s short temper. It seemed that after he had all but ran into the medical bay to make sure she was still safe and secure on base, he only discovered that she was gone. He nearly had a spark-attack right then and there.

 

The only femme in known existence was … gone.

 

Luckily, seeing Optimus’s panic when he looked at the empty berth where the youngling had been, Wheeljack was able to discern what was the matter. The semi was quickly told that Ratchet kept that promise of sending the youth to the brig if he didn’t have a virus … which Bumblebee didn’t. There was some outdated virus software, but no real reason for the yellow mech’s erratic behavior. So Ratchet, having one of his famous yelling fits, had the youth taken to the brig until he could deal with him.

 

That was why Prime was here now, in the dark brig, staring at a recharging femme in one of the cells. He couldn’t bring himself to move any closer, though. He had been so worried about the femme, and the fact that he now knew what she was, that he hadn’t even thought about what he was going to say to her. What should he say? Should he be angry at her for not telling something so crucial to a superior officer? Should he be happy and tell her that now she was safe from the ‘Cons? Should he say she was no longer allowed off the base without an escort? Should he ever let her off the base again? Should he state that, because she was a femme, that she should follow the traditions of the femme race, including their traditional chests? Should he leave her as she is in form, hiding her from the Cons completely? Should he send her off-world and back to Cybertron? But mostly, what of her greatest asset: reproduction? Should he demand she find a bonding partner and start the beautiful procreation cycle? Should he choose for her since she seemed too afraid to choose for herself, and because there were bound to be fights amongst the mechs that wanted sparklings?

 

He believed in a femme's freedom, but he was also a leader for a reason. Leaders made the hard decisions, and sometimes they had to sacrifice the rights of one for the best of the many.

 

Optimus looked away from the prone form, a sickness forming in his spark as the screams of raped femmes echoed through his processor. How could he think that? It was his belief that freedom was the right of all sentient beings. Bumblebee was sentient, and so were all his kind. Primus, this was going to be hard. There was bound to be an uproar when he told the mechs. Perhaps it was best to just let it set for a little while. He could let Bumblebee come to terms with what she was in private, having only a few select mechs know what she was that could comfort her before he revealed her.

 

But, despite all his uneasiness, he was sure of one thing;  Bumblebee was safe from the coming ‘Cons and herself in that cell. For now, it was best to leave her here. So, he had made one decision tonight … What of all the others?

 

“Elita, I wish you were here …” was the Prime’s parting words as he left the sleeping femme.

 

XXX

 

A loud, long, groan filled the room and Bumblebee tried to inch away from the cold feeling that now covered her. It was like she was in a dank dungeon. No... This was wrong. The last she checked she was in the medical bay, her systems hot and …

 

The femme sat up with a strangled cry, reaching for restraints that … weren’t there. She onlined her optics, a frightened and confused gaze falling over the small area she was in.

 

She was in a small room with nothing but a berth and a set of bars staring at her. Slag … Was... was she in the brig?! Or had the Decepticons captured her and she was now being held for later?! A worried whimper escaped the frantic femme, and she found herself stumbling to her feet, her hands touching the metallic bars.

 

“N-no, I’m trapped. I can’t be in here. I-I …”

 

“Yah, how can you be in here? It’s just … It’s just wrong,” came a voice to Bumblebee’s left set of bars. She couldn’t help but yelp and fall against her berth as she met a pair of blue optics.

 

“S-sideswipe?” whimpered the femme as she stared at the mech, horror filling her CPU.

 

What had happened when she had been out? Ratchet was damaged, but Wheeljack was a rather capable mech. Maybe something had shown up in her virus scan that revealed her.

 

Was she found out? It had to be. Why else would she be in a cage where she couldn’t escape?! W-was this mech to be her first? Had he been sent down here to breed with her? What should she do? Her mind was a tangled mess … What was going on? She didn’t ask any of those questions, though; she only managed a whimper.

 

“No, it’s Megatron,” stated the mech sarcastically as he exited the neighboring cell and took up a stance in front of ‘Bee’s cell, a frown slowly consuming his face. “And how could you?!”

 

Bumblebee drew herself against the back wall, her mind finally coming to the conclusion that they must have found her out and she knew what was about to come. They were probably angry at her for not telling them she was a femme. They were probably furious that not only had she been putting herself in danger, being the only one of her kind, but that she wasn’t in anyone’s berth making sparklings.

 

“Nobody, nobody at all, gets thrown in the brig before us! Especially if it has that new brig smell. I mean, that just never happens. In fact, it’s like a crime against nature,” said Sideswipe as the door to the brig slid to the side, revealing his brother as he entered the room with his trademark sneer.

 

Sunstreaker was carrying some strange looking tools, along with a cube of what looked like coolant-supplementary energon. Bumblebee merely blinked her optics on and off … What was with the medical tools?

 

“In fact, something must be done about this travesty,” said Sideswipe as a grin swept across his facial plates.

 

The next thing Bumblebee knew, Sideswipe was opening the cell door, grabbing his brother by the elbow and … throwing him at her, slamming the door behind him! The yellow twin was only allowed a grunt as his tools were dropped to the floor.

 

Bumblebee wasn’t even allowed a frightened cry as the realization hit her … The coolant had worn off and Sunstreaker was going to end up directly on top of her. She didn't even have the chance to disagree as the yellow body fell towards her, her body about to be crushed onto the berth. She shuttered her optics tightly. However, before she could even prepare for the impact, it stopped; all she heard was a crunch and a growl. She wanted to continue to lay there on her berth, hands up protectively as she tried to sink into it to ignore the other body before it started grinding against hers. But neither the weight, nor the grinding came so she had to online her optics and see what had happened. Her spark nearly jumped out of her chassis when she looked up to see a pair of cold, blue, optics staring down at here. His body was precariously balanced above hers, his chassis inches from touching her own as his arms held onto the wall above her head to keep the stability he had just managed to capture to avoid falling on her.

 

Bumblebee swallowed in thankfulness, looking over the scene once more. Sunstreaker was mere inches from her chassis, as if daring to touch her... She suddenly couldn't stop her mind from wondering...

 

Sunstreaker was right there... His strong gleaming chassis with its beating spark that could slam into hers and bring the heat cascading down in her groin that would make her spread her legs and let him sink in-between them. A surge would hit her as a click would meet her audios, the sound of him removing her cod-piece, and then he would stroke her interfacing cord until she’d cry out for him to hook into her. And … and … then … he’d lower himself completely to …

 

Bumblebee’s optics widened when she noticed that the heat was starting to come about … and the coolant was not there to tame it. It wasn’t painful enough that she wanted to collapse, though. Instead, it was demanding, hungry...

 

Shit. The femme’s optics grew wide.

 

S-she wasn’t reacting to the heat, so her body was going to try the other method of obtaining the interfacing programs it so craved … by taking them through force. Primus...

 

Primus! Maybe Starscream wasn’t as dumb as she thought he was when he cracked her glass and left her. H-her mind was getting fuzzy, her interfacing port was getting hot, and Sunstreaker had nowhere to go. She’d just have to reach up and slam him down onto her form, grinding against his …

 

Stop! This was her mind. She would not let her body have that as well as her physical form. She had to distract herself.

 

“What-what’s going on?” she finally managed to whisper up at his peering optics, Sunstreaker snorting and pushing himself up into a standing position, ignoring her question.

 

“Let me out. You check him over,” said Sunstreaker, ignoring the femme’s question and turning towards the bars, a cold glare drowning his sibling. The yellow hellion then folded his arms and glared at his brother for a minute, letting him know that he didn’t think it was funny to be locked in with Bumblebee.

 

“Ohhh, but you two look so cute together in there; a perfect couple,” his brother cooed as he grinned evilly. “Besides, I heard Bumblebee probably came of age, and I bet he needs _the talk_. Maybe while you’re in there you can take another one of Ratchet’s responsibilities, but instead of telling … you can give him a _visual_ representation.”

 

A growl escaped Sunstreaker as he took a step nearer to the bars, his dentals bared as he whispered, “I’m not above beating you into the ground.”

 

“But you couldn’t do that,” mocked his brother as he stood just out of reach of any hand through the bar. “Who would fix me up? Not Ratchet. It’s going to take all day for him to recalibrate those optics of his. You don’t want your brother to bleed to death, do you – yip!”

 

A yellow hand lashed out between the bars, and Sideswipe was barely able to move out of the way before his brother could grab onto his neck. Quickly regaining his composure and cocky grin, the red terror tisked his slightly psychopathic brother, and stated, “Now, now. You don’t want to have to make me leave you in here. Now, hurry up and molest Bumblebee so we can …”

 

“You’re not going to touch me!” all but hissed the femme, still confused as hell as to why she was here, but the word ‘molest’ was enough to tell her she wasn’t in a good predicament at the moment.

 

She pulled herself out of a laying position and all but pressed herself against the wall, glaring as she tried to protect her chassis with her arm.

 

The two twins stopped in their squabbling and turned to look at her, confusion and surprise an easily read emotion on both their faces; well, Sunstreaker’s face also had a glare with his, but that was just in the titan’s nature to always have that glimmer of hate in his optics. One had to wonder what happened to him as a sparkling to make him so cold.

 

“Wow … we pick up one medical tool, and he’s already treating us the same way he did Ratchet. By the way, what you did was dumb,” said Sideswipe, shaking his head as if he were scolding a child. “It’s one thing to hide from the Hatchet to ignore medical treatment, but to kick out his optics? You’re lucky you only got sent here and not the scrap heap.”

 

Bumblebee, though still being slightly drowsy and terrified due to the fact that she was trapped in a cell with a strong young mech, found herself thoroughly distracted with the puzzle at hand. Apparently, the twins were here to either taunt her or torture her with some medical tools from Ratchet … and to inform her that Ratchet was pissed. Hmmm … nope. No connect the dots there. Error. Illogical. Do not go past go; do not collect a hundred dollars.

 

“Why am I in here?! What does this have to do with Ratchet? I thought he wanted me in the medical bay!” Bee finally yelled, part of her regretting the words as the two brothers both eyed her as if she were an idiot. What if they said, ‘Well, because you’re a naughty femme, why else?’

 

“Because you pissed off Ratchet,” said Sunstreaker as he growled, leaning forward to pick up a tool and the cube. “You kicked out his optics, not because you had a virus like everyone thought, but because you didn’t want medical treatment. You get punished for insubordination, Bumblebee, and the punishment for that is brig time. Jeeze, we know you’re a goody-good bot, but I thought even you would know that.”

 

Bumblebee blinked, the connect-the-dots coming together and forming a picture... Too bad it wasn’t a nice picture. It seems Ratchet was serious about his threat. Primus. She had kicked out his optics as a last ditch effort of escape … but it didn’t save her, it just drug out the inevitable. He was going to fix his optics and then … No...

 

No! She’d fought too hard. She'd fought too long. She would get out of here and …and what? Pretend that Ironhide wasn’t going to tell Optimus? That Ratchet wouldn’t demand a full body check to see why she had over heated? And that Starscream hadn’t noticed the sex of her spark? No...

 

It was time to make a choice. A terrible choice, but it was one for her own survival. She only prayed that Ironhide would forgive her, and Sam … Well, she needed to see her charge one last time.

 

First, she had to get out of this cell. Okay, what were her options? Looking at the twins, she repressed a grin as a thought came to her. She’d just take a lesson from the twin terrors and their ever popular ‘you distract and I smash’. Looking at the yellow mech before her, Bumblebee couldn’t help but cringe. This was going to so suck if she didn’t escape; Sunny sure knew how to hold a grudge.

 

Quickly, she straightened up and took a deep breath. Better do this before she lost her nerve. Then, she jumped forward, wrapping an arm around the shocked Sunstreaker’s neck while war crying, “Goodie good mech, huh?! I’ll show you a goodie good mech!”

 

The brig was then filled with screams, grunts, clangs and hisses as Sunstreaker struggled with the femme in disguise that was now on his back trying to claw off his face. Sideswipe merely stood outside the bars, optics wide as he watched Bumblebee – yes, do-no-wrong Bumblebee – just try to commit suicide. Well, maybe not truly try too, but in his mind, anyone that was dumb enough to attack Sunstreaker might as well be committing suicide. Maybe there really was something wrong with Bumblebee. Maybe it was just a bad line of code and not a virus. Primus, maybe those humans did something to the little mech when they captured him. This just was not right. Bumblebee would never attack another mech without reason … except Ratchet; everyone always wanted to escape Ratchet.

 

“He must have robo-rabies,” Sideswipe finally muttered as he watched helplessly on the other side of the bars.

 

“I don’t slaggen care if his mind has been invaded by the ghost of Megatron! Get that slaggen EMP generator Ratchet gave us and sedate him! He’s trying to rip off my audio receptor!” cried Sunstreaker as he struggled to remove the smaller mech off his shoulders … failing horribly. “Ugh! My paint job! You little slagger, I’ll rip off your fingers!”

 

Sideswipe hurriedly picked up the tool Sunny had brought and turned it on, a warm buzzing echoing over the room. Then, with quick ease, he flung open the cell door, stating simply as Sunstreaker turned to reveal Bumblebee’s surprised optics, “Sorry about this, brat.”

 

The rest was a slow blurr after that, but Bumblebee was sure that she had fallen onto the floor, her limbs having gone limp off Sunstreaker’s body. She was then minimally aware that the twins had turned her onto her stomach, bickering amongst themselves as one of them pulled out one or two other medical tools, no doubt collecting readings for Ratchet. That didn’t strike her as important, though … She merely kept her fist closed, hoping the twins wouldn’t notice the small gleam of metal between her fingers.

 

Sunny had been so distracted about his paint-job that he hadn’t noticed … He hadn’t noticed when she grabbed the laser-scalpel. The twins took her temperature, took an energon sample, a coolant sample, some other small readings, and then left her a cube on the berth. She remained there, fuzzy but content. She didn’t care if the readings they took revealed something … She’d be out soon enough.

 

As soon as this slaggen EMP paralysis wore off, that is! How did Ratchet always manage to torture her, even when he wasn’t there?!

 

XXX

 

Sam sighed, a chill running down his spine; the kind someone gets when someone says something behind one's back … or when they feel betrayed. He still couldn’t believe what Ironhide had said to him, and then there was that terrible scene in the medical bay. Bumblebee had been so scared, like a doe caught in a corner by hunters with their knives and muskets, and he couldn’t do a thing but watch. He had seen enough to feel sick. So sick that Ratchet, despite being blind, had him served up to Hound to be sent home so he could rest. Sam had no idea what was happening now. Was Bee in someone’s berth … or her own? Was she scared or relieved? The boy didn’t really get to dwell on his feelings, though, when a voice floated from the speakers of the vehicle he was in.

 

“Are you cold, Sam?” asked Hound as he continued forward in his lazy pace, in no hurry to get anywhere. “I couldn’t help but notice that you just shivered?”

 

Sam stared at the floorboard for a moment, noting how the pedals moved by themselves and that the floorboards had pebbles and dirt in them. None of the other transformers would even dare get dirt in their interior, and here Hound didn’t seem to care at all. He was just fine with it.

 

“Just a bit ... sad,” said the human, not knowing what else to say.

 

The mech in car form was silent, as if thinking of an answer. Then he stated softly, “Do not worry, Sam. Bumblebee will be fine. I know it looks like we were trying to hurt him, but he was hurting himself from what I understand. A forceful stasis was the best course of action in this predicament.”

 

The human was silent. Though, he should have expected as much of an answer.

 

Hound, perhaps sensing the human’s distrust, continued talking, “Let me ask you. Have you ever seen the leaves change color, and then be dropped from the tree?”

 

Giving the radio an estranged look, Sam replied wearily, “Yah … its called Fall.”

 

“Do you know why it does that?” asked Hound, his voice soft.

 

Sam merely gave him a skeptical look. What was this? Charades? Sighing, he decided to play along, “I’m not going to get all technical, but basically the tree does it because winter is coming, and it’s the only way it can survive.”

 

“Exactly,” said the green mech, his tires coming to a halt as he parked on the other side of the street from Sam’s house. “Sometimes, we hurt parts of ourselves in order to survive. To make sure the team survives, we sometimes have to sacrifice a little comfort and wait out the winter. This will all seem like a bad storm when Bumblebee snaps out of … whatever he was in.”

 

 _‘If only it was that easy_ ,’ thought Sam silently as he opened the door to the jeep. Giving a warm nod, Sam started to walk across the dead suburban street, “Thanks for the ride, Hound. It was nice talking with you. We should totally hang …”

 

Hound stilled his tires when he heard a yell erupt from the house, Sam stilling in the middle of the street. For a second, both figures didn't move, but then the silence was disturbed once more by the unmistakable sound of crashing and cursing. The human boy stood there a moment, fear welling up in his heart. He might have lived in a nice neighborhood, but this was still a populated area, not a nice farming community where people didn’t even have to lock their doors at night. Without even a second thought, he had sprung forward, yelling his mom and dad's names as he jumped over the bushes and towards the house. In the days before the Autobots, he might have stood back in fear, but the soldier was now in his blood, ready and willing. He had never fought another human being, but, after facing Megatron, it felt as if nothing could frighten him.

 

Throwing the door open, Sam slid inside, grabbing one of the golf clubs he knew was by the door in the umbrella stand; his dad kept forgetting to put them in his golf bag. He then headed for the sound, his heart hammering and his palms sweaty as he ran towards the direction of his horrors. He kicked open the kitchen door, golf club ready for attack, but the soldier was shot the moment he got a look at the kitchen … It was in utter shambles.

 

There were empty cases of oil and various other engine fluids everywhere. The sink running, the blender mixing what looked like windshield washer fluid and brake fluid, if the containers by it were any indication. Then there was the pyramid of tin cans in the corner with what looked like bite marks in the sides. However,  the strangest thing of all were the three now still figures in the kitchen, all three covered in every fluid under the hood.

 

Finally, the silence erupted into sound when one of the swamp-like creatures spoke, “Sam! Thank god you’re here! Help us catch the sparkling. We gave her some lawnmower oil and axle-grease, and now she’s acting like a junkie coming off a fix! Grab the net by the chair!”

 

The teen stood there in confusion, looked back out the door to make sure he was really in his house, and then back at the scene in the kitchen. The screams returned. It seemed that X-bot had taken up a defense from being captured … by throwing his mom’s dishes. Sam merely stood there with a squinted eye as the chaos continued. He was torn between joining this insanity and the probable prospect of explaining stitches, or letting his parents fix their own mess?

 

Not that he really took much effort in choosing;  it seems the attacks had to move onward onto another country: aka, Sam or his head at least.

 

The boy let out a savage cry as X-bot made a leap for him, small limbs clutching his head before she started to pull at his hair as if looking for something. Sam merely twirled in circles, crying for someone to get it off. The two parents merely stood there in surprise, oil and various other liquids dripping down their faces, before looking at each other and shaking their heads. Judy then grabbed something off the table, jumping and stating in a half yell, “Sam, catch!”

 

The boy caught it despite his struggle. If he wasn’t in agony he might have done a double take. It was a fisherman’s hat, an ugly one at that, but he didn’t have a second thought as he slipped it on. Part of him doubted that it would work, but for some reason the little femme stopped, a small ‘ooooo’ escaping her as she started pulling at the baits and hooks in the hat.

 

“She loves those silly things,” laughed his mother, coming forward and giving her boy a hug. “So, where’s that silly yellow girl of yours? As you can probably tell, X-bot has been a handful. She was hungry and we figured she had to be eating something when she was on the street, so we both resurrected our old chemistry skills from high school. It didn’t go well, but at least she’s not hungry anymore.”

 

Sam’s face gained a pained look. What was he supposed to tell them? That Bumblebee was never coming home and that he might have to hand over the sparkling as well? Just looking at this kitchen was enough to tell him they couldn’t take care of this alien baby alone. Swallowing, he looked at his mom and dad, and nearly choked on his tongue as a pair of blue optics reflected behind them outside the window. He squeaked and quickly jumped to the floor. The two parents gave him a confused look, and then looked behind them.

 

Crawling on his belly through the oil and grime, Sam grabbed his dad around the ankles and hissed, “There’s an Autobot outside, not Bumblebee. Hide the femme … I’ll get rid of him.”

 

Sam quickly rose to his feet, nearly slipping in his rush to get out the kitchen door. Sliding on the wet evening grass, Sam made his way around the house, his eyes getting wide when he turned the corner to see Hound, on his belly and trying to peer into the house.

 

“Sam,” said the mech hurriedly, his worried tone quickly becoming that of confusion before continuing, "Why are you covered in various engine fluids? And what happened in the house?! I heard you screaming.”

 

Sam cursed his loud mouth and quickly answered, “I-I slipped and screamed as I fell.”

 

“Are you sure that is all? I entered the yard and was able to witness something metallic attacking your head. I am also picking up traces of spark energy. I think there may be a Decepticon in the house. Evacuate your family; I will try to scare him out,” said Hound, the worry back in his voice.

 

The human swallowed. Shit, how was he going to lie his way out of this one? H-he … He needed to bullshit it.

 

The boy quickly put on a grin and laughed, “Silly, silly, Hound. That was the … ugh … blender dance. You see it’s a family celebration where one person puts a blender on their … ugh … head and tries to mix drinks while … ugh … dancing. It’s a huge American past time to celebrate the creation of the blender. Yah.”

 

Hound looked troubled and terribly confused, “Blender dance?”

 

“Yah, blender dance,” said Sam quickly, waving to the mech as he started back towards the house. “Bye, thanks for the ride. Drive safe.”

 

Hound was left on his stomach, still confused. Well, he had only gotten a glance and maybe he was just picking up on an old energy signal from Bumblebee, but he couldn’t help but feel unsettled. Something was wrong here … so he’d stay. It wasn’t like anyone would miss him at the base for another day. Primus, he missed Trailbreaker and Seaspray. At least he knew they would notice if he went missing. Besides, with Bumblebee ill, Sam would need a temporary guardian. He’d wait here. With that thought in mind, Hound stepped out onto the back street and transformed, falling into a light recharge.

 

XXX

 

A soft clicking echoed in the brig as Bumblebee grumbled to herself, using the laser scalpel to try and pick the electronic lock. She was getting closer by the minute. As long as nobody interrupted her, she’d be Scott-free.

 

Suddenly, the doors slid open to the brig.

 

Primus hated her … didn’t he? Cursing silently, she jumped onto her berth, pulling her knees into her chest and placing her head on top of them, making it look like she had been moping. The clicking of heels quickly drew closer, and the femme merely looked up long enough to glare at whoever it was before she put her head back onto her knees.

 

“Cold down here, isn’t it,” said Ironhide casually as he stopped in front of her cell.

 

It was cold down here, there was no doubt about that, but Bumblebee did her best not to shiver. She didn’t want Ironhide to think she was weak just because she was a femme. It looked like he had come to talk. If she could convince him, maybe he’d let her out, but she doubted it. Ironhide had taken the step from Guardian to parent without even knowing it; parents always did what _they_ thought was right.

 

“I take it you didn’t come here to let me out,” stated the femme simply as her optics dimmed, her heel pushing back the medical tool so that it was hidden by the shadow created by the berth. She put on a hurt and scared look just to drag any suspicion away from her feet. She still recalled the days she’d try to sneak energon goodies before bed … Not once had she succeeded. Ironhide always knew when she was trying to hide something. She would miss those days.

 

“Nope,” said Ironhide, with a forlorn sigh. “I jus’ came down here to talk.”

 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she added bitterly. “I’m happy just the way things were … buried under a layer of steel.”

 

The older mech shook his head, part of him wanting to open the cell and hug the hell out of the little, frightened, femme until she’d just relent and accept what she was and cry on his shoulder. Maybe he should have told Ratchet along with Prime. Maybe this was something that could be fixed with some new software… He doubted that. Nothing was that easy, but he hated seeing her so distressed. She needed to be calm. She was frail , so very frail right now, like glass with spider web cracks. She was reaching her breaking point and he knew it, but the secret would just get worse the longer it was hidden. He just had to be careful, so very careful.

 

“Listen, kid,” said the Weapon Specialist as he drew nearer to the bars, his optics dim with concern. “I know you are scared of what is to come, and I don’t like seein’ you in here, but jus’ try to hang in there, okay? This room is only temporary. Prime said so. I’m sure that once Ratchet finds out why you acted the …”

 

“You told Optimus,” whimpered the femme, fear now real as she got off the berth and took a few steps back into the cell, away from her guardian.

 

The old mech automatically came forward, shaking his head and optics full of pain as he reached his hands through the bars, trying to grasp her retreating form. He would not lose her now; he would not lose Bumblebee.

 

Reaching out his hands, waving for her to come to him, he whispered, “Now don’t be scared, come to me. I know you were trustin’ me with your secret, but kid … this is not something you hide. Now, I did the hard part. I told Optimus and everything else will follow after. Yes, it’s going to be hard at first, but I’ll be here. I’ll always be there for yah’. If you don’t like a certain mech botherin’ you or you need someone’s shoulder to cry on, I’m here Bumblebee … I’ve always been here.”

 

‘ _No, you won’t be_ ,’ thought the femme in a pained way. This was a better time than any to … say goodbye. She sniffled at the thought, her engine catching. Ironhide looked as if he had been stabbed when she sniffled, but she moved forward, allowing the older mech’s arms to grasp her hand, pulling her into a hug against the bars. She merely allowed him to hold her, the heat simmering at the bottom of her spark.

 

Still in his embrace, Ironhide continued to talk. He told her of how strong she must have been to bare her secret alone, but that she no longer had to be strong … He and the others were here. He whispered about how hurt he had been, but that he understood. He spoke of things that had nothing to do with the present, about a femme called 'Chromia' and how much Bumblebee reminded him of the her. He spoke of many things through the cold bars, but Bumblebee only had one thought drowning her mind.

_Goodbye, Ironhide._

 

Yet, as Ironhide got up, saying he needed to get some recharge and would be back later, she was unable to say those words.

 

“At least I got to see him,” whispered the femme to herself, hurt seeping in her voice as she picked up the tool and started to pick at the cell door once more, “one last time.”

 

XXX

 

Bumblebee had a rising panic in her chest as she drove down the highway, dodging cars as if it were second nature. The panic wasn't because she had been captured, but because she came to a final conclusion. This was the end of Bumblebee …

 

He was no more.

 

There was only her; a little femme that had disappeared into her caretaker’s workshop so long ago.

 

She didn’t know much about herself or the things she lacked or required. She only knew that this part of her was telling her something the old Bumblebee would not. He had not been afraid of his comrades in arms. However, she was afraid and it was time to leave them behind.

 

But, there was on last thing Bumblebee had to do...

 

Before she knew it, her mind had led her home, led her to Sam. For a moment, she just sat there in the street, engine idling. This was going to be one of the single hardest things she had to do in her life. First, she had to silently say goodbye to Ironhide, and now she had to say goodbye to Sam. It took all her will not to break down into sobs in the street. She had to do this. It was the least she could do for him.

 

With a whine, she transformed and slowly stepped over the fence, kneeling down and knocking on the kitchen door. She could hear the family running about and shouting like there was something going on. If there wasn’t such a sadness in her spark, she might have laughed when Sam answered the door covered in oil. She might have even grinned when Judy and Ron came into view as well, a sleeping X-bot in Judy’s arms.

 

“Bee! Oh thank god, they let you go. How’d you get out of there without them finding out?” asked the teen, relief in his voice.

 

Biting back a tremble, she stated softly, “Because they didn’t let me go; I escaped. Sam … I’ve come to say goodbye.”


	17. Run Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, oh no! Where have my grammar mistakes been going?   
> Oh me, oh my... Litahatchee must be the one taking.

Sam stood there, looking up, his neck craned as his eyes got wide.

 

“W-what,” said the boy desperately, trying to fend off the truth about what he had just been told.

 

No! He had worked so hard, strived too long, lied far too often. Was it all for nothing? Bumblebee was still going to leave?

 

“B-but you couldn’t… You can’t. I don’t care if you are a femme. You’re one of my best friends,” Sam continued.

 

The femme looked away, unable to gaze upon the misery in the human’s eyes. She would never forget that painful stare. She would bare the burning memory of this goodbye forever.

 

“And you are mine as well, Sam, but it’s no longer safe. Ironhide told; he couldn’t bare my secret… so I can’t stay here anymore. If Optimus doesn’t make me choose someone, my own heat will consume me. I will take X-bot now. I’m sorry it had to be this way." The femme spoke in soft sadness, bending down on one knee as she put out a hand.

 

She took one of her forefingers and almost lovingly ran it across Sam’s cheek before dragging it up and ruffling his hair.

 

With a choking sob he struggled to keep in his throat, the human reached up and hugged the large finger before he let it go. Tears now started to fall down the boy’s cheek as if that last touch was given by a dying friend instead of a leaving one. A choking noise escaped him despite the fact that he had been grinding his teeth to keep the sorrowful sound inside this throat. Soon, little sobbing noises were escaping him, and he couldn’t do anything other than start to cry, his shoulders shaking mournfully. He struggled to keep at least the sobs down so that he’d just drop silent tears. He was not so lucky.

 

Ron sighed, reaching over at his reluctant boy until the teen surrendered and allowed his father to hug him. The father looked up and noted that Judy was kissing X-bot goodbye, leaving a small streak of lipstick on the small being’s head. X-bot merely looked up with bright eyes, not understanding the situation but knowing, nonetheless, that it was not good. A soft clicking wanted to escape her, but before she could start, Judy was suddenly lifting her away and upward.

 

X-bot flailed slightly as she was pulled from her comfort. She desperately tried to grasp onto the human’s sleeve as if trying to grasp life, but her grip was not strong enough compared to the thick yellow fingers that pulled her away. It was mother-sister, she knew that right way, but flesh-mother had such a saddened look in her gooey optics. X-bot didn’t want to leave her in such a state, but sister-mother merely clicked away, telling her it was okay. X-bot still cried though. She was leaving part of her first family behind.

 

Bumblebee stood up straight, pulling the little femme into her chest, allowing her spark to speak to the other's. It almost broke the femme’s spark to do this to a sparkling so young, but this was for her own good… for both of their own good.

 

She stepped back, uncupping the little femme, revealing both of their metallic forms to the streetlights. They seemed to gleam like fading stars as the elder femme petted the youth down the back, trying to calm her. Her finger stalled when she felt a gaze upon her...

 

Slowly turning her head with a fearful stiffness in her neck, Bumblebee’s vents stalled as a pair of blue optics stared at her, unwavering, from the trees in the neighbor’s yard. Slowly, probably realizing that he had been noticed, the camouflaged form of Hound stepped out into the light. His optics were wide and unwilling to move from the yellow form and the little thing in her hands.

 

Unknowingly, Bumblebee took a step back as if a beast, instead of a friend, had risen from the shadows.

 

Hound immediately stopped gaping when he saw the femme draw back. He put out a hand and spoke as if whispering to an injured being, “Stop. Stop. It’s okay Bumblebee. I’m not going to hurt you … or the sparkling.”

 

The yellow femme’s spark jumped nonetheless, fear encasing her even though she tried not to allow it to show, “W-what did you hear, Hound?”

 

The older bot’s hand was still outstretched in an offering manner, his mouth-plates silent for a moment before he added, calmly, “Everything.”

 

Bee started at this, but the older mech continued in a cool voice, “but everything’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with being a femme. The Allspark blessed you. There’s no need to hide. There’s no reason to leave… You’re safe with us.”

 

Bee shook her head, noting that Hound had just taken another step forward. “T-this is a curse. I never wanted to be this way, Hound. J-just let me go.”

 

The green mech shook his head, his voice soft but demanding as well, “I’ll just find you, Bee. Now, just calm down, take a minute to center yourself and take my hand. I’ll call Optimus and everything will be fine. It’s not a bad thing to be a femme; it’s not a curse. Primus blessed you.”

 

Her engine was now heaving, her fans overheating as something else started to crawl into her chassis … Hound was getting too close. Bee started when she realized what was happening.

 

The Heat was setting in again, the coolant long since lost from her tubing systems. Yet, before she could properly panic and make a mad dash for it, Hound saw it coming and rushed forward. He grabbed one of her wrists and also her forearm so she wouldn’t drop the sparkling. His grip was deadly tight; he wasn’t going to let her go.

 

For a second, Bumblebee just looked up into his optics with a combination of shock and hurt. Hound had always been good to her, spoiling her at times. Yet here he was, grip tight, features hard, his body entirely too close to hers.

 

It came as it always came, like steam being released from a valve, pouring over and burning any being too close; too bad she was the one being burned. A scream escaped the femme as the shock of being hit by the Heat overcame her and she nearly fell to her knees from the rush, her whole form going limp for a moment… even her hand. X-bot barely let out an alarmed squeak as she was dropped head first.

 

Hound’s spark skipped from Bumblebee's strange action alone, a wave of heat hitting him and his engine squealing for a second when he started supporting all her weight. All that seemed a blur of insignificance, though, when he saw the sparkling fall.

 

Generally, the dropping of a sparkling was not as deadly as it seemed to be for a human baby… unless the spark chamber cracked from the impact. Noticing how thin the young sparkling’s armor was, Hound didn’t think the youth would survive the fall. Thinking quickly, he let go of the elder femme and made a grab for the falling babe.

 

Hound caught X-bot with ease, but his joy was short lived. He quickly looked up. He had let go of Bumblebee and he could see her intentions in her frightened optics… She was going to run.

 

“No Bee … Don’t,” Hound whispered, the plea in his voice unmistakable.

 

Bumblebee pulled away before Hound could whisper anything else, her optics on the sparkling in his hand, and then she was over the bushes, her form nothing but a frightened memory.

 

Hound knelt there a moment, sobbing and clicking could be heard all around him. He looked at the humans, whose eyes were all on him, and then to the little sparking in his hand. The sparkling was all but clawing at his fingers, trying to escape in the direction Bumblebee had gone.

 

Sighing, Hound pulled the young being into his chest so it could listen to his spark beat. He needed to get to Optimus and Ratchet immediately. He would call them out here to help him hunt the frightened femme down, but he couldn’t risk Starscream capturing the transmission. That would be the end of Bumblebee if that lowdown ‘Con got her.

 

XXX

 

Starscream wandered the halls of his base, his body twitching slightly in discomfort. He had been in this groundingly form for a while now and he didn’t know how much longer he could sustain a form without wings. Primus, he’d even take a ridiculous form like that Autobot fool, Powerglide. He could feel it now, his frame reaching and grasping for flight. He could feel the Sky Madness crawling under his armor. He pulled his hands into fists and listened to the metal squeal from his grip due to the pressure he was putting into the shaking fists

 

He offlined his optics and exhaled, his mind pulling up the memory of trembling yellow limbs and frightened blue optics. He recalled her quivering hands as she grasped at his wrists, trying to keep Starscream’s touch away. He liked those hands, those shivering fingers, even more than the glow of her spark. Those fingers were not soft and well kept like a femme from the past, with their china doll-like disposition. Her fingers were rough and the paint was scraped and lost all together in some places. They were strong hands, yet small. He liked those rough hands, and he couldn’t wait to feel them pressing against his chest, a scraping sound accompanying the dark room where only their vents would pant and sparks combine.

 

The grounded flier doubted that he’d get a lustful feel from those fingers any time soon, but after he handed her around a few times to his mechs, Starscream was sure his kinder glow in the bedroom would be welcomed like energon to an Empty. If there was one thing Starscream was known for, it was patience. How many vorns had he waited for Megatron to finally make one false step and end himself? Patience wasn’t a problem.

 

However, he did have his limits, and Barricade was testing them. It wasn’t unlike the enforcer to disappear from time to time, or even ignore him, but Barricade had taken to himself more than disappearing. After all, if he completely disappeared, how would he continue to be able to leech off of Starscream’s energon provisions? Slagger! How much could a small mech like that consume? Plus, he had been stealing fraggen medical supplies as well!

 

Don’t get him wrong. He could have cared less if the other mech was secretly bleeding to death … before the other agreed to be his sparkling’s caretaker, that is. There was no way he was giving his young to Soundwave. The slaggen, emotionless, freak would somehow turn his heirs against him. That wasn’t happening.

 

The flier halted, a growl escaping his vocals. He was tired of this game. Turning on his Decepticon Comm. link, he demanded, “Barricade! I’m sick of this hide and seek game. Come the frag out before I decide to start beating you when I finally find you. I know you’re damaged.”

 

There was silence for a moment before a dry reply came through the line, “I’m not damaged… my Lord. Now leave me the frag alone.”

 

The line went dead after that, leaving the Decepticon in a holy-hellfire fit. Barricade would have never done that to Megatron. He would have been frosty about the whole exchange with his old lord, but never would he have just hung up. Starscream was going to beat the vulgar fragger to an inch of his life and then let the beast sit that way for the next few days until the reinforcements showed up. Then and only then would Starscream allow any repairs...

 

And the repairs would take place while the enforcer was online too.

 

That promise had been made an hour ago, though, and Starscream still hadn’t fulfilled his lordly threat. He had checked every crevice and shadow for the smaller Con, but the most he found were some used laser scalpels and a few empty cubes. It was easy to say his patience was drawing to a close. He had left his comm. link open, just waiting for the slagger to speak so he could …

 

His comm. link suddenly beeped and Starscream automatically lashed out, “Barricade! I have been looking all over for you. Where have you been hiding, you slimy little cockroach! I know you’re up to something. Your vow was a fake, wasn’t it? When I find you I’m going to rip your spark case out and use it as a sleeping pod for my first born. You hear me? Now where the slag are you?!”

 

There was a dragging moment of silence until a cold voice noted simply, “Starscream … This isn’t Barricade.”

 

The flier noticed the static in the voice and automatically grinned, “Here already? I thought you were going to take all week, Blitzwing. Nice to see that you decided to show up early. So tell me… Who all wants to claim loyalty to their new lord?”

 

XXX

 

Hound found his form moving faster than it had in over a vorn. He had made a choice. He had kept the sparkling instead of going after Bumblebee, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he had made the wrong decision. Bumblebee was a long-time companion, but this was a child; a child that needed him more than Bee did. Despite that, Hound still felt wrong, still felt he could have come up with a third choice, rather than choose from the two he had been offered by fate. He did what he thought had to be done...

 

He let Bumblebee go.

 

A rumble in the tracker’s interior made the elder mech’s thoughts disperse like leaves into the wind, and all his attention was suddenly focused on the huddled little thing on his floorboards. He immediately slowed down, his engine pounding gradually softer like a slowing drum.

 

“Hey, little one,” Hound said, noting how the small sparkling pulled back into himself like a metallic pebble on his floorboards. Hound also noted that the sparkling was such a small little thing, easily folding himself into the grooves of the elder mech’s dash, half of the youth’s form hidden in the shadows like a lurking mouse. “I thought you had fallen asleep.”

 

An awkward moment passed, Hound picking up a little more speed.

 

“I know you are upset because Bumblebee left you, but there is no reason to fret… We will find her soon,” said the green mech reassuringly, not knowing what else to say.

 

Surprisingly, the sparkling chirped and perked up at the mention of the yellow youngling. Hound smiled inwardly. He wasn’t a terribly old mech, but he remembered the femmes and how they were with sparklings. In fact, he had been one of those types of sparklings.

 

Hound had been Allspark created and had no creator to claim him, so he went to the youngling centers to be raised. He didn’t remember much of his younger days, but he did commit to memory the way _her_ light blue and white armor had shined the first time the femme had picked him up and allowed him to cuddle against her chest. Her name was Hydroplane. Sometimes, Hound would still dream of her and the way her fingers used to pet his back and sooth him into recharge… and then he’d wake up close to weeping. He didn’t know if his caretaker was alive or dead.

 

Burying those thoughts before he’d find himself clicking like the sparkling, Hound turned his attention back to the small thing. His voice almost carried through his vents with how softly he spoke, “I had a caretaker that was a femme too. Her name was Hydroplane. I’ll tell you a little bit about her while we head over to meet Optimus and the rest of the Autobots. You’ll like them… They’ll probably spoil you rotten.”

 

Hound didn’t know if he should have been glad or worried when he finally arrived at the base. It did mean that the sparkling was now in a haven, but it also meant that he would have to tell Optimus Prime and the rest of the Autobots about what had happened before he found the little sparkling.

 

Standing at the threshold of the entrance of the base for a moment, sparkling asleep in his arms, Hound hesitated. He didn't hesitate for the sparkling’s or his sake, but for Bumblebee’s. Primus, the youngling had been absolutely terrified and Hound would sorely admit that he hadn’t handled the situation well; Ratchet would have handled it better with a wrench and bad temper.

 

Staring at the pebbles at his feet and the small collection of them that had crawled onto the cement of the interior threshold, Hound stepped forward and into the false light the inside offered… Then he was very nearly ran over...

 

A dry cry escaped the tracker as he took a hasty step backwards, his feet slipping slightly from the steep refooting onto the loose pebbles. He pulled the sparkling close, his optics accusing the red form that nearly plowed him down like some vermin in the road.

 

“Watch it, slagger!” yelled Hound in an uncharacteristic harshness for him.

 

It wasn’t easy to halt Sideswipe and Sunstreaker when they were in a hurry … However, somehow Hound had done that very thing. They were both now staring at him as if wondering how deep of a hole they’d have to dig in order to hide his corpse. Hound swallowed at the thought. He, like most Autobots that had met them, was slightly afraid of Sunstreaker and Sideswipe… but mostly Sunstreaker.

 

“What’s got your bumper all in a bunch?” stated Sideswipe as he took a step nearer to the smaller mech. “Where have you been anyway? Optimus wants everyone ready for the …”

 

The red twin went silent, his rush and anger dripping away like snow to the summer sun. He had seen it just dimly washing out the green on one of Hound’s fingers… He saw a small hand. He had to stare at the black, thin, digits for a moment to realize what they truly were. They were the fingers of a sparkling and they were holding onto one of Hound’s larger digits as if it were a branch for its nonexistent bird feet.

 

“What are you holding?” asked the red twin, the load of metal sheets he was carrying quickly finding itself being set on the floor with a soft bang.

 

Before the green mech knew it or could even protest, he was being overshadowed by the larger red mech. As if acting on instinct, the tracker pulled the youth a little closer, drawing a tired yawn from the sparkling. That sound, in effect, made the second twin put down his metal beams and overshadow the green mech as well. It would take a rather confident mech not to be slightly intimidated by the twin-beings when they were overshadowing you. They were known for their short tempers, after all.

 

“… Nothing,” stated Hound nervously, shrinking back from the larger forms.

 

“Come on, Hound,” said the red twin, his fingers slowly inching forward, trying to pry open the green hand as if hoping to peek in on a treasure. Hound twitched at the touch of the other’s fingers, but didn’t pull away… Sideswipe did that all by himself, shocked speechless.

 

Mouth plates gaping for a moment, Sideswipe finally found the words, “Slag, Hound. Where did you find a sparkling!”

 

Sunstreaker, whose optics had contained a surprised expression only for a moment, found his vain side and stated in a snide tone, “Yah, Hound, when did you get knocked up?”

 

“I-I’m not a femme,” stumbled the mech in surprise, his mind traveling back to the frightened femme he had been forced to leave behind.

 

“No duh, you’re not pretty enough,” said Sunstreaker with a sneering-raised lip as he reached forward and, with surprising ease, took a larger finger and ran it down the sparkling’s back.

 

Hound would have recoiled at seeing such a cold slagger touch such a pure innocent thing, as if his cold persona would wipe off onto the youth from touch alone, but a soft coo echoed in the three mech’s audios as the sparkling cuddled against Hound’s chassis. Both Hound and Sideswipe stared at Sunstreaker as if he had grown a second head. How did that yellow hellion know the sparkling would react in such a way? This was Sunstreaker, after all; the yellow demon-spawn that had risen from the flames of the Pit itself to enact his wrath on all beings that looked upon him with something other than envy.

 

Paying no mind to the gaping looks, Sunstreaker bent over and picked his payload back up, stating in his usual cold tone, “Optimus is talking to the arriving ship right now and seems flustered, so leave him alone. Ratchet will probably know what to do with the sparkling more than anyone else anyway. Come on, Sideswipe, we don’t need Red Alert bitching when he finally gets here.”

 

Sideswipe was still gawking at his brother, his mind probably wondering what else his brother was keeping from him, but at the moment all he could babble was, “B-but I want to hold the sparkling.”

 

“Sides, now!” yelled the yellow twin over his shoulder, not even looking back as he made his way forward.

 

With a whine, Sideswipe gave in and picked up his metal sheets, the things rambling like thunder. He walked away with dragging feet, his gaze landing on the sparkling once or twice as if he had been denied a new toy.

 

Hound shook his head at the strangeness of the interaction, but he couldn’t help but feel that the sparkling would have no lacking of attention. A soft smile now on his face, Hound started forward.

 

He had really hoped to talk to Prime, especially because of the circumstances surrounding Bumblebee, but it seemed he’d just have to deal with Ratchet … which scared the frag out of him. Yet, he couldn’t stop smiling as he looked down at the small, living treasure.

 

…

 

Ratchet’s hands shook as he looked over the readings one more time. He glanced away from the screen and towards the door. Maybe he should have Wheeljack come in here and confirm what he was reading, because it had to be wrong. There was no way that Bumblebee…

 

Ugh, he had to stop considering that those readings were even a possibility. He had just gotten his optics readjusted after all. Maybe they were really off...

 

B-but his logic systems wouldn’t let him ask ‘Jack! His loyalty as a medic and his promise to protect medical records could not be broken. If what he saw was true, it was his job as a Medical Officer to take care of the issue. If it was an issue?

 

Maybe, just maybe...

 

“Those slaggen twins. I bet this is all a sick prank just made to rile me up,” grumbled the medic as he started typing on the computer consul. However, he wasn't really believing his own words. Perhaps he should go over the results a fourth time...

 

Before he could even type in the finishing command, there was a knock on the door. The medic found himself growling as he turned to stare at the door, just daring it to try that again.

 

It did dare, and this time it was accompanied with a voice, “Ratchet? Are you in there? Its Hound … I-I would have talked to Optimus first but I believe he’s busy… so … I need to speak with you.”

 

Before he could stop himself, the CMO found himself snapping, “Not now, Hound! I’ve more important things to take care of than a rock up your tail pipe!”

 

There was a moment of silence on the other side; Hound was probably stunned because Ratchet had actually snapped at him.

 

Hound was surprised that the yelling had started already. Usually, the yelling didn’t happen until after he came in injured. So, it was easy to say that Ratchet was in one of his moods. Ugh, the tracker didn’t have time to deal with this. He just couldn’t blurt out to anyone that there was a scared femme wandering the streets. Optimus was all but gone, and the Second in Command, Prowl, was in the med bay and was under medical rest. So that left Ratchet or Ironhide...

 

Ratchet would probably know how to deal with this better than Ironhide.

 

Cupping the little femme closer to his chassis, he knocked again, “Ratchet … I really need to talk to you.”

 

Ratchet’s vents halted and he slowly turned to look at the door, his interests turned for a moment. Now that tone was just… desperate. The healer’s core programming kicked in. That tone was basically a cry for help...

 

Limbs moving quickly, the medic found himself sliding the door open. His optics washed over the green mech like a hawk looking down at its prey before striking forward and capturing it. Ratchet quickly lashed out with the speed of that very predator and pulled the jeep forward, turning the tracker as the medic looked over the other for wounds.

 

When he found none, the rescue vehicle grumbled, “Where are you hurt?”

 

Hound took a step back, not liking the scrutinizing gaze, “I’m not hurt. It’s just that I need …”

 

Ratchet was still in medic mode, finally noticing how one of Hound’s hands was cupped against his chassis. He immediately reached for those fingers, ready to pry them loose and have a look underneath.

 

The tracker merely pulled away as if the healer’s touch had been searing. Hound noticed his mistake immediately. It was not a wise thing to retreat from a medic; they had this way of pulling heavy, painful tools out of nowhere and hitting you over the head.

 

“I… mean… I’d just like to talk to you in private,” said Hound, grinning when he noticed that

Ratchet’s hand had somehow gotten down to his subspace pocket in his leg.

 

Ratchet grumbled and then grabbed Hound by the other hand, pulling him and allowing the door to whoosh shut. He then all but hissed, glancing over his shoulder momentarily before saying, “Alright, we are alone. Tell me how the frag you messed yourself up so I can fix it and get back to another … problem … I just noticed.”

 

The jeep merely followed the medic’s quick glance over towards the other end of the medical bay, where a computer consul seemed to be analyzing some samples. Nearby, Prowl was slowly sitting up, his optics dim and his hand reaching for his chest. He must have been awakened by the medic’s harsh voice...

 

Ratchet, matching Hound’s dead-set gaze, immediately threw the tactician a look. He hadn’t had the time, or the sight, to put in the monitor for Prowl’s spark earlier. He had been planning on doing the operation once his optics had readjusted, but then he got Bumblebee’s readings and plum forgot about Prowl.

 

Staring at the sleepy looking tactician, he felt a bit ashamed to call himself a medic. It was his code and his honor to get his patients back on their feet with a clean bill of health as soon as possible. He had been denying that right to the suffering Prowl when that being needed it most. The enforcer needed that operation, he needed more rest, and he needed around the clock supervision and support. He needed a lot of things Ratchet couldn’t give him right now...

 

Slag those Decepticon’s. Slag this war. Slag those bloody readings. A femme in their ranks and he hadn’t noticed it? He was the medic. He knew a mech or a femme better inside and out than he or she knew themselves. There was no way… It just… How could he call himself a medic?

 

Pushing those worries down, he pointed a finger at the enforcer as if the mere movement would push the patient back into bed.  The healer then stated, “Prowl, you better just lay back down and continue to pretend those drugs didn’t ware off, or I’ll find a more painful way to put you to sleep.”

 

Prowl’s dazed, sleepy look seemed to be dragged from his very optics as he stared at the yellow-green mech in surprise. He might have continued to stare, his hand still on his chest and his spark burning, but his quick optics couldn’t help but notice that one of Ratchet’s hands was moving towards his subspace compartment.

 

The SIC’s spark gave one violent throb and Prowl found himself going stiff as he thought of the monitor that was supposed to be in his chest. Why wasn’t it there? Why was the CMO in a frenzy?

 

There was a stillness in the room as Prowl’s finger dug into the seams of his chest for a moment… The device hadn’t been installed yet. His battle computer started screaming that something must have occurred during his forced slumber. Prowl, for the first time in a long time, ignored his battle computer and just laid back down. His wings twitched for a moment because he knew Ratchet was glaring at his back, expecting the Second In Command to go back into recharge, but the tactician remained awake with his optics merely offline. He had one more day to remain dreamless, one more day to run away from the ghost that haunted his slumber. Jazz…

 

“There, we’re alone,” said Ratchet, his shoulder struts raised high and stiff.

 

Ratchet knew Prowl wasn’t asleep, as the engine of the other hadn’t started to cool down, but he’d try to comfort the tormented soul a little later. Right now, he had to deal with a probably-injured Hound.

 

No, a most _definately_ injured Hound. The tracker was probably just embarrassed and it wasn’t a serious wound.

 

Ignoring personal space, Ratchet’s fingers reached towards the cupped palm, stating, “Let me see and stop being a sparkling. What? Did you hit some kind of fowl and lose a headlight?”

 

Hound pulled away a little a bit, embarrassment evident by the roar of his engine, “I wouldn’t hit an animal. I’m not careless like the twins… and-and please don’t pry.” The tracker swallowed before whispering, “You’ll scare the little guy.”

 

Ratchet stilled, his CPU stalling before his optics went bright for a moment. He stood there, optics dulling before he replied back, “What?”

 

Then, like a lily blooming on the water, Hound uncupped his hand, revealing a sleeping sparkling. X-bot was all but curled up into a ball, little fingers grasping the seams of the larger mech’s chassis as if X-bot were afraid to let go. Ratchet actually took a step back in surprise, his engine squealing as if he had just choked.

 

Hound’s optics went wide, never having heard such a sickly sound escape the medic, who kept his inner workings in such pristine condition. If Ratchet was anything but the medic, he would be calling a medic.

 

“Are you o-okay?”

 

Ratchet stared for a moment more as if his mind was running a mile a minute. Then, grinding his dentals as if he had just tasted something bitter, Ratchet nodded and added with a dry-throat voice, “Yah, I’m fine. Here, let me look at the little gamer.”

 

Ratchet's hard exterior dropped like an anchor into the sea. Reaching a hand slowly outward, he ran one of his fingers down the sparkling’s revealed spinal support column. The small Cybertronian’s engine gave off a soft purr and the medic smiled. It had been so long, far too long, since he had heard that soft cooing noise.

 

Slowly, he found his fingers taking the metallic child. He or she was so small, even by sparkling standards, and his or her armor was almost nonexistent. Ratchet knew, already, that the babe was going to need major upgrades, and maybe a new body all together. That didn’t drown his hope, though...

 

A sparkling… A real, living sparkling.

 

“Where did you find him?” asked Ratchet, his voice soft as he carried the slumbering mech to a spare berth, grabbing a large rag on his way and placing it on the berth before he laid X-bot down. X-bot cooed again, snuggling into the clean rags that lingered with the scent of oil that did not wish to part.

 

Hound watched the sparkling grip the fabric, the green mech’s optics unable to look away from the spindly little fingers. The sparkling needed _her_ … Why was he stalling? Why hadn’t he just run to Optimus wailing that there was a femme on the planet? Why was he so calm about this?

 

The green mech looked at Ratchet and he immediately knew the answer to his own questions: everything was going to be fine. These were Prime’s hand chosen mechs, after all.

 

“With Bumblebee. The sparkling was with Bumblebee,” Hound simply stated.

 

Ratchet’s smile was gone like vision to a blizzard. For a moment, the medic just stared at him as if in a frightful shock or an unbelieving surprise. He just stared at the green mech as if waiting for a punch line or a grin to reveal that the simple sentence was a joke. He just stared.

 

Hound found the look unsettling, to say the least. That was the look he would expect if he told Ratchet that Bumblebee was a femme, which was not what he said at all. He simply stated that the sparkling was with Bumblebee. Rubbing his arm in a nervous manner, Hound decided that since the medic was already shocked, he might as well tell him the rest of the news...

 

“Speaking of Bumblebee, I need to…”

 

“You were in the brig? Is sh-he awake? I … need to ask him some questions,” said Ratchet nervously, a rare quality for him and he knew it. It was just that … some really big news had just been slammed down on his shoulders and he wasn’t sure how to deal with it.

 

Yes, Ratchet now knew, without a doubt, that Bumblebee was a femme. The samples the twins gave him were, indeed, accurate. He had thought the samples were a prank at first, but now, with the sparkling as evidence, he knew they were correct.

 

Sparklings were drawn to femmes.

 

Hound shook his head, a slight panic trying to rise but being pushed down as he spoke, “She was supposed to be in the brig?”

 

Ratchet started slightly, his optics growing a blinding white. Then, in a panicked voice, he inquired, “She’s not in the brig?”

 

Not liking the look he as receiving, Hound put out his hands in what was meant to be a calming motion, “S-she was at Sam’s. I think she was trying to run with the sparkling.” Ratchet’s face took on a pained expression as if he had just lost a patient. “Don’t worry," Hound continued. "I can track her. I just needed to make sure the sparkling was safe. I’ll leave right now.”

 

Ratchet still continued to stare, an expression on his face that made it seem like he had been shot. Then, with a slight squeal in his voice, the medic stated, “I don’t think that will be fast enough … Prime came to me, ready to tell me something when he got the call. Apparently, we don’t have a few days until the Decepticons get here… They’re going to be here tomorrow, and our forces won’t be...”

 


	18. Golden Soldiers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta, Litahatchee, and all her wonderful work.
> 
> Also, thanks to Hydraling110 for the muse she sent me which I found adorable: "Muse! Muse! Muse! Muse! Would you like some muse with that? Muse! Muse! Frankly, my dear, I don't give a muse! Muse! You can take the red muse or the blue muse! Muse! Muse! MUSE! YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE MUSE!"

"Where is Bee?" Ratchet had said, nearly a day earlier when Hound had brought the sparkling to the medic for inspection.

 

The panic in the base was immediate. Even Bumblebee could see that, and she was nowhere close enough to hear what anyone was saying.

 

Bumblebee crushed the foliage beneath her fingers and she went stock still, her pump hammering for a moment as she watched the mechs run about. They probably though she was halfway across the solar system and were struggling to find a way to get to her. Well, given the fear she had had during the interaction with Hound, she would be but she had made a promise…

 

She was going to save X-bot.

 

Shifting a little in the tall golden grasses, Bumblebee double-checked her surroundings to make sure some stealthy mech like Hound hadn't found her while she was trying to spy. After all, Optimus and the others had found Sam and her spying on the outlook with little to no ease, and she hadn't even been as close or exposed as she was now. Swallowing down the panicking feeling that wanted to consume her body like kindling wood to a fire, the femme dug her fingers into the soft Earth.

 

Where were those Decepticons when you needed them?

 

A shiver ran under her spine all the way down to her cod piece as she recalled the current ruler of the Deceptions. She had no desire to see him again anytime soon, but a part of him seemed to follow her around like phantom hands over her chassis and thighs. It sickened her and upset her.

 

The heat was getting worse. It was demanding, wanting; it wanted anyone. It would even take a slagger like Starscream if it would release the pent up energies of her virginity.

 

She swallowed, disgusted by the thought. Why was she even dwelling on this? It was a feeling that would leave soon enough. She would never have to worry about warmth beneath her plates or a shivering heat. There would be no one to tempt her. She had to hold out in patience just a little longer…

 

Just a little longer.

 

\---

 

Ironhide felt sick to his tank. He wanted nothing more than to run out of the base and search every inch of the state until his engine grew weary. How did she even get out? She was a scout, not a saboteur, and certainly not an escape artist. They should be out there looking for her, not preparing for battle. She was scared; she had run in fear. He should be with her, not here.

 

A pair of heavy feet sounded behind the Weapon Specialist like thunder from a distant plain. Ironhide turned from the door where he was watching the grasses to face his commander.

 

Optimus looked down at the shorter mech with a sullen expression. Slowly, he reached out a hand and placed it on the black mech's shoulders. The two ancient figures both watched the wind that played over the grasses as if the wind had fingers, touching all it could before departing.

 

Optimus tightened his grip on his old companion's shoulder, stating, "Perhaps it is best for the time being. The Decepticons are going to be here before the day is out. They think she's here and if we are unable to defend this base until back-up shows… It is a thought that haunts me. It is for the best that none of us know where she is. We will find her when the time comes, but for now, old friend, we must prepare to save ourselves before we can save her."

 

The black mech's hands tightened and, slowly, he found himself following after Optimus. For the first time in his entire military life, Ironhide felt no rush through his systems at the thought of battle, not even the tell tale flavor of fear.

 

He merely felt saddened. Why didn't she want his protection?

 

XXX

 

Sideswipe sat down and then rose to his feet again, pacing. He could sense something in the air amongst the older bots, a strain. They pressed forward, though, successfully leaving he and Sunny in the dark.

 

Slaggers never tell him anything. Part of him wanted to snoop, but he knew now was not the time. Ironhide's guns were almost hot with how often he shifted them, Ratchet was busy doting over his two patients, Hound had disappeared outside of the base to ready himself for a surprise attack on some unsuspecting slagger, and Optimus would not be tested with that flavor in the air. You could taste the coming battle on the very wind. In fact, he could feel a 'Con's optic on him somewhere in the distance, but Optimus told them that this place needed to be defended.

 

The question was: what were they defending? Prowl could still fight and the sparkling was small enough to be hidden inside one of their systems.

 

The red mech didn't get to think much more on the question, when he suddenly heard the hum of jets, a white line being drawn in the distance like someone painting an inaccurate cloud. They were coming and weren't being cautious of their entrance either. Everyone knew this battle was coming.

 

It was Sunstreaker's cry that pulled away all of Sideswipe's thoughts, wonder lost, "Incoming."

 

And the battle started with the flavor and revenge of an old war.

 

\---

 

Bumblebee tightened as she heard the explosions begin to rain on the earth like metallic hail, the whole Autobot base groaning, dust shivering down from the ceiling. She tilted her head up, optics becoming dull as she stared at the tiles above her like a faded yellow brick wall. It seemed that the battle had begun and she had snuck in at the opportune moment.

 

Not that she was glad for the battle and its offered distraction completely, because this battle was probably over the ownership of her. Her fingers screeched as she made a fist, her mind knowing the carnage Starscream would enact to get what he wanted. With a growl of her engine, she started following the yellow brick road forward like a girl on a mission to find the wizard. Her limbs were stiff, though, thoughts drowning her, because she knew she wanted one other thing besides X-bot particularly.

 

She wanted to say a true goodbye to her fellow soldiers in arms, but she never could. When she found her imaginary wizard, she'd not ask for a heart, but she'd ask for hers to be removed instead, and maybe see if the wizard would make sure that Starscream had his wings back so someone could rip them off.

 

The femme's hate was only half-lived, however, as she wondered if any of her team members would die for her today, for her curse? Would they, after fighting Megatron so long and finally succeeding, finally yield and die on the battlefield for a spark no one would ever touch or see again?

 

She wanted to rip her own spark out and throw it into the middle of the battlefield, giving one last cry before she died, "There, have it! What will you fight over now?"

 

But who would she be saving in doing that? Not X-bot, and certainly not her comrades...

 

No... _his_ comrades. The Autobots were a friend and companion to Bumblebee, the 'he' Bumblebee, the Bumblebee that existed before the 'she.'

 

Oh, to be a 'he.' Oh, how wonderful that would be. Sickening it was to be a 'she.'

 

The yellow femme shook her head, hating the pronoun confusion and herself. If only she could cut the femme out like in the dream, her breasts falling to the floor in little pieces and her spark rupturing as she died. She died … so…

 

The only way she'd get rid of the femme would be to die and decay away.

 

'Bee's fists became tight. Why was she dwelling on this still? There were so many things she wanted in life and been denied time and time again. How was this any different? How? The universe had denied her and now she was its cursed spawn which the Universe cackled at like a back-stabbing witch. The universe prayed for her to suffer!

 

… She would not.

 

It would be a lonely life to steal herself away from all the universe's company, but at least she'd have X-bot, as soon as she found her, that is. Knowing Hound and the others, the sparkling belonged in the medical bay where its thin armor and easily crushed form could be cared for. And where its spark could reveal its sickening truth.

 

The medic saw the poor little femme's shame: slagger. She could only hope that Ratchet was on the battlefield losing his pound of energon, not just for the injustice he had done to X-bot, but because of the last few interactions between the two of them. If those encounters were any indication of what was to come if he was in the medical bay, she wouldn't be gallivanting off to her promised self-banishment but, instead, be a china doll in a display. However, she couldn't back down or run away from this. She had promised X-bot that she would save her, rescue her from Primus's predetermined fate of sex and impregnation.

 

She'd hate to have to hurt the mech that had healed her wounds and saved her life so many times, but she would have to use force if he was there. Her golden armor glimmered in the fake florescent above her head like a dying star; she was a shining warrior who was the hero for this tale, not the damsel in distress. She was not some fuck-toy for some prince to rescue. Everyone knew that that was the end for the princess. There were no tales after. Those stories ended where she would marry the prince. That was the end of her story because that was where her happiness ended and lacked. She was nothing more than his property afterwards; an animal to breed.

 

Bumblebee did not need to be saved. With that thought fueling her rage and the images of trapped princesses crawling down their own towers and sneaking passed sleeping dragons, she stormed forward and towards the medical bay. She was the hero of this tale. She didn't need anyone saving her...

 

XXX

 

He hated dirt; yes, hated it. He didn't care if it helped plants, specifically irritating ferns, grow. He hated it more than the feeling of a wet milk jug on the floor boards or his cab, or the wet sticky noise of thawed meat in a bag right after a trip to the butcher. He hated it even more than animal crackers with their crumbs that got stuck in between the seats. Why? Because it got everywhere, even more so than that of a leaking jug of white bovine excretes.

 

Ironhide growled as a rather large clod of dirt slammed into the back of his head in his dug-out in the earth. This hiding felt somewhat cowardly at first. Now, he had to admit that the trenches were a good idea, because they were greatly outnumbered. It didn't mean he was going to let the Decepticons get away with shooting a clod of mud into his head, though. No number of Decepti-creeps would get dirt in Ironhide's audios and get away with it. Because, no matter how unlikely it seemed, he was still waiting for a call from the daughter he never knew he had: Bumblebee.

 

Giving into his rage, the black mech threw himself upward, exposing himself to the enemy fire as it rained down around him like falling lights. He aimed his gun, dirt clods throwing up all around him with the shots barely missing his legs and chest, and fired with his elbow stiff as each rocket was thrust from his cannon and into the air like so many hungry comet-tailed snakes. Then, just as quickly, he was back in the trench, Optimus glaring at him from behind his battle mask. The Weapons Specialist merely shrugged, a grin threatening to escape him when he heard a metallic scream echo in the distance along with a fulfilling explosion.

 

"That was not only reckless, Ironhide; it was also stupid. We merely have to hold them off for a few hours, not defeat them ourselves. We haven't the man-power and certainly not the stamina needed to take them all on," said the blue and red warrior as he replayed the battle strategy in his head.

 

"I hit him, didn't I?" said Ironhide, simply, as he shook his cannon, trying to get some dirt out.

 

The larger leader sighed to himself and grumbled under his breath. He knew he couldn't dissuade Ironhide from anything if the black mech set his spark on it, and that was what Ironhide had exactly done. He was protecting this place as if Bumblebee was really in the base, shivering and held up with the sparkling, Prowl, and Wheeljack. Not that Optimus blamed the caretaker. It was all he could do after all, since he couldn't really protect her...

 

Turning away from the black mech that was playing with his guided missiles now, Optimus turned on his comm. link and contacted his frontliners, "Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, report. Have you got an aim on that trine yet?"

 

There was some crackling over the lines, making the large semi frown, but Sideswipe replied with a sickening glee in his voice.

 

"Yah," chimed the younger mech as he took pauses as if busy and trying to concentrate. "Just a … Wait … No … Yes! Yes! Jump Sunny! Get the green one; I'll get the yellow one! Yeeha! Here I come lemon-drop!"

 

There was a collection of grunting, Seeker screams that could rupture audios, and exuberant cowboy outcries as if Sideswipe were riding an electric bull. Prime pinched his nose in frustration before the communication even went dead. Where the twins had gotten this horrible idea of jet-judo was beyond him, but he really had to sit down and have a talk with the two death-wishers. Ratchet was getting sick of putting them back together.

 

Then, not missing a beat, Prime looked at Ironhide and growled, "Go! Go!"

 

Prime and Ironhide jumped out of the trench and ran forward to exact some tactical revenge. They weren't expecting to win, but they wouldn't do nothing either. After all, Prime was known for his skill of killing half a dozen 'Con's by himself, not that Sunstreaker was counting...

 

\---

 

Sunstreaker had ripped into the flier's cockpit right away, not wanting to drag out the mid-air molestation like Sideswipe always did, which was why he was presently crashing, he supposed.

 

This could be very unpleasant.

 

Grunting, Sunstreaker jumped just as the green flier slammed into the earth with an earth-splitting screech. He smirked to himself. That's what the slagger gets for trying to use acid to melt his hands off… Though, then again, that was probably why he was called Acid Storm, or whatever the hell it was. Not that he cared. His sights were now on a bigger fish: Blitzwing. Not an easy mech to take down. He was larger, a triple-changer, and plum mad to boot.

 

Sunny always liked a challenge.

 

His grin growing, the yellow twin pulled out the swords at his wrists and started forward, low to the grass like a brightly colored ninja. Why a ninja would be yellow was beyond him, though. Not that that was bothering him, but something did feel off about this whole battle. The biggest indicator was that he hadn't been shot at yet, but who was he to complain about that? It was about time that larger mechs like Ironhide and Prime got shot at once in a while. Sunny really didn't want to limp into the medical bay and leave with the new name of swiss-cheese. Perhaps that was why he was feeling a little more blood-thirsty than usual.

 

No one was challenging him! Why not? He was bright yellow! His engine growling, Sunstreaker was finally close enough to attack. Jumping into the air, his jet pack giving him a little lift, there was a sickening screech as metal bit into metal, the knife coming down between the huge mech's shoulder joints. There was a scream, quite like what he expected. What he didn't expect was Blitzwing's almost perfect reaction timing and shoulder twist that threw Sunny off almost immediately. It was like he knew Sunstreaker was going to stab him.

 

Not that Sunny really got to think that tid-bit of information over as he found himself being slammed onto the ground, a foot placing itself on the back of his shoulder and a spray of energon falling down onto his form as the 'Con pulled Sunny's broken knife out of his back, growling an obscenity.

 

Sunstreaker quickly offlined his optics when he realized he couldn't struggle, giving how much weight was now on his spinal column. It would snap if he tried to struggle too much. Not even realizing it, he whined as his spark tried to bid away the death that was soon to befall him. His CPU was predicting the Decepticon's next move and it was immediate death by crushed spark-chamber.

 

What a way to go. Never, in his whole life as a soldier, had he been taken down so easily. He was strong. Some even called him a devil of the battle field, but today he was not a devil. Soldier after soldier seemed to try and strike him down with earth-shattering blows, but this… This sucked.

 

The blow never came, though. Instead, more grumbling followed as the 'Con leaned down and restrained Sunny's wrists. The yellow mech cursed a bit when he realized what was going on, but was smacked harshly in the back of the head, forcing him to eat dirt. Frag. This was not happening. Stuff like this happened to small mechs, not frontliners! He had not just been taken captive, had he? Primus, this was embarrassing. Sideswipe would never let him live this down… if he came out of this alive at all. What could they possibly want to exchange him for anyway?

 

"Motormaster, you there?"

 

There was a crackle and a squeal of tires, followed by a rather peeved reply, "What do you want? I still haven't seen any Autobot aft that resembles the one Screamer was talking about."

 

Blizwing, who was known for his bouts of insanity, chuckled madly for a moment, his tone changing as he cackled and his madder side took over with a little chime, "Motormaster likes big afts and he can't deny it's Prime's aft he wants to ride. Who knows the day or time, but…"

 

"I'll slaggen kill you!" roared the slightly saner mech, his tone becoming deadly. "Now, tell me what the frag you wanted?"

 

Blitzwing chuckled a second more before his colder calculating side retook its dominate position in the mech's mind, asking, "What color was the _subject_?"

 

"Yellow, you slaggen moron."

 

Blitzwing smiled at this, taking a hand and forcing Sunny to look up at him. Here he had thought that the femme in disguise would be horrendously ugly, but this femme was lovely … a little mean too. That was just how he liked them. He would enjoy breaking her.

 

He rubbed Sunny's chin, gaining a sneer. Then, just as quickly as the mech's personalities seemed to change, so did the softness of the touch, Blitzwing dragging back a fist and slamming it into Sunny's face, successfully knocking him out.

 

"Come with me, pretty yellow femme. We're going to be having lots of fun," chuckled Blitzwing as he took a step away from the battlefield, prize in hand. At least, so he thought...

 

XXX

 

Wheeljack nearly shot her –again- when the femme burst into the room. It had been a shock, and not to mention an embarrassing moment for the mech. He was not much of a "ladies" man –as some would say- and he had been basically on top of her just days ago…

 

...and plugged into her systems.

 

It had taken the orange mech a moment of humiliation, after Ratchet had told him of Bumblebee's sex, to realize that the medic wouldn't go against his code of patient confidentiality. He wasn't trying to make his old friend heat up like a fool, as Wheeljack initially thought. Ratchet was telling him because it was an answer as to what was ailing his systems.

 

...Medic-based programming.

 

As a technician, Wheeljack had been given quick lessons in healing. Due to such quick lessons, he had only been given a few basic medic programs. So, it was easy to state that Wheeljack never got programs that would tell him detailed Intel, such as the fact that he was hooked up to a femme in heat and in need of medical services. He had no idea of Bumblebee's circumstances, but his programs did. Those programs did their best to tell him what was wrong by telling him to employ closeness, to engage in physical activities, to heat the systems up in a mimic of sexual attraction, and to just plain out frag Bumblebee. It failed miserably, and Ratchet already had plans of fixing this: a crash course in medical training.

 

Yet, even after Wheeljack had acknowledged the message the medic program was giving him, he still felt a flash of heat now that she was near.

 

"Bumblebee," the elder mech finally said as he slowly lowered his gun, his gaze falling to the mech and the sparkling femme on the berth beside him; the little femme curled up against Prowl's thigh and her body wrapped in old rags.

 

Prowl was here because he had been denied access to the battle, the medic stating that the enforcer's reflexes were too slow and he was too distracted. Ratchet was not cruel, though, which led to the sparkling. Perhaps, noticing Prowl's need to do something, Ratchet had given the sparkling to the tactician to be protected while Wheeljack was to act as a last line of defense –as well as a spy for the tactician.

 

Bumblebee couldn't look at them: not Wheeljack's worry nor Prowl's twitching wings. They both knew why she was here. Femmes never abandoned their sparkling; a part of her was sickened by how perfectly she fell into that definition, but she would not deny X-bot because of it.

 

"Give me X-bot," came out a low, almost animalistic growl.

 

Wheeljack immediately took a weary step forward only to nearly jump back when her gun transformed, even though it remained pointed towards the ground. It was a warning. No one would be dissuading her. No one would be making her stay.

 

Wheeljack gave a worried look towards Prowl, as if asking what they should do. He would not be able to touch her.

 

The tactician's words were calm as he quickly answered to Bumblebee's non-vocal challenge, "Please be calm, Bumblebee. Please listen. Starscream, if he catches you, he'll..."

 

"He won't catch me," she said in a low voice, cutting Prowl off.

 

Wheeljack merely whined in disbelief and complaint, but he said nothing verbally. He looked back at Prowl, indicating that it was now a verbal battle between the two of them and he was counting on the enforcer to win. Wheeljack was many things, but verbal sparring wasn't one of his strong points.

 

"There is an army out there just for you, Bumblebee," said Prowl as he took over for the other mech, his optics becoming slits as his SIC training kicked into gear.

 

Prowl's mind was observing the situation down to the blades of grass between the femme's fingers. Apparently, she had been outside watching them this whole time, hadn't she? She was not running scared and stumbling along like her last few interactions with other mechs. She had a plan now, and she would do anything to promise its completion. Femmes always were smart.

 

"You don't know that. Plans fall through. He'll capture you if he finds you," the tactician's battle computer was now playing chess with words, performing each move that he hoped would turn the situation in his favor.

 

Prowl knew she was scared despite the angry face she had on, because she merely ran in here. She was in the dragging paces of fight or flight right now, which meant that her present plan wasn't strong or fail proof. Above all, she was afraid of everything right now; even herself, given her resent revelation about her sex and its uses. After all, she had hidden it her entire life; there were bound to be emotional issues just waiting to spill over.

 

With that knowledge at hand, Prowl knew it just took the right words and the right actions to collapse her frail reserve and force her into a frightened state. It didn't matter the age, sex, or situation when someone was afraid; they'd always seek out comfort and protection. He had to be careful not to make himself out as the villain, though, but instead that being she sought out for protection.

 

"Bumblebee… stay. It's Prime obligation to protect, especially femmes and sparklings. He, we, will protect you from Starscream, from all Deceptions," he continued, revealing a positive and negative light to the frail and frightened mind before him. She was already halfway broken; she just needed the right push to break what was left of her reserves.

 

"…Prime will take advantage of me if I stay. Starscream will not catch me. Give me X-bot or I will shoot you," her voice shook just slightly, but she stood tall and hate-filled.

 

"Starscream is coming. He did not survive as long as he has if he wasn't cunning. And as you know, it may take him a while, but he will get what he wants. He always does, and he will get you as well."

 

"No, he won't," growled the femme, her hand shaking. She didn't want to shoot Prowl b-but he wouldn't desist and let her be, his hand purposely cupping the sleeping sparkling.

 

"Yes, he will… and he will rape you," said Prowl as he used the 'r' word that would strike fear to the femme's core, even going so far as to make the phrase a statement, his voice even taking out a pained tone as memories and need took control of his words. "Please, none of us could live with ourselves if we knew he had you. I've seen what Decepticons do to femmes." He swallowed, the words hurt. "They… It was a public event for them. No femme that was raped was just trapped alone with her attacker. They were like a pack of dogs… ripping into her. They'd disarm her, tell her what they were going to do and then rip off her cod piece. They'd all fuck her, not even in turns." His engine choked in disgust and rage. "They'd all be touching her, some ripping at her spark, some at her mouth, some with breast, and they would spare her nothing. They fucked her like…"

 

Prowl's tone started to growl, growing angry, not at Bumblebee, of course, but the tone was strange for Prowl. Actually, the whole conversation was unlike the tactician she knew and it scared her, bothered her, and sickened her.

 

Bumblebee's voice shook as she yelled, "Enough!"

 

But he just continued, his tone becoming more monstrous...

 

"They bred her! They didn't just interface; they fucked her until she was a mass of impregnated metal that couldn't even function, she couldn't even scream anymore! Most Autobots secretly prayed she was dead before they got to her… but there was one that lived."

 

His voice shook at this and he swallowed, looking down at the little femme that was on the berth right below his hand. Yes, little femme. Ratchet had told them after he took some time to put some basic sparkling armor on her… soft light blue armor. Ironhide, at first, couldn't even look at the sparkling when he entered the medial bay to see if Ratchet was prepared for battle. She probably reminded him of Chromia.

 

"Firestar. We found her alive, barely so. Our medic, Crank, put her back together. She didn't wake for cycles, but it felt like vorns to us because she was the only femme from the colony that we were actually able to 'save.' She was quiet when she onlined, just sitting there in the medical bay, all her limbs pulled close with her thighs so close together that she scratched paint. She seemed so small and frail. I met her only once before the incident … and all that life was dead. It was like those bastards took a part of her with themselves after their overloads." Prowl was practically shaking, but he continued, "After a few days of silence, Crank finally told her she was with spark… multiple sparks. He didn't know if the sparkling split or if 'so many partners' was the cause. She made her first sound that day. Her scream was blood curdling… and it seemed to last forever, echoing even in space. The base had gone silent in her misery. Her crying was all we could hear, her sobs, her…"

 

"Prowl," Bumblebee's voice broke, door wings shivering. "Please stop! Don't make me shoot you."

 

"…fingers digging into her own cranial plating as she tried to forget and then…"

 

"Stop it!"

 

"…the ripping noise that followed shortly after when she finally started to show in her abdomen; her fingers prying under her plating, metal…"

 

"I am not like other femmes! I am not like her!" she cried, her disposition failing.

 

"… rattling to the floor as she tried to stop her pregnancy again and again and…again."

 

"I'm stronger than them!" she screamed, her bravery failing like her emotions, a dam cracking and drowning the city to be forgotten underneath its waters.

 

With a sob, Bumblebee's arm transformed as she dragged her hands up so that she could weep and hide her expression in cupped hands. She didn't see Firestar in the mech's recollection. She saw herself. She saw X-bot when the little femme grew older. She saw her femme creator...

 

Prowl watched the queen fall, the plastic piece hitting to the board with a soft echo. His feet matched that imaginary sound as they met the floor. He gave a slight glance to Wheeljack as he headed forward towards the emotionally exhausted femme, not a weary twitch in his movements as he came towards her. His arms quickly wrapped around her midsection as if foreseeing a second into the future, and she collapsed into his chassis. Her whole form shook as he slowly leveled himself down to the floor, the femme still in his arms.

 

Many, especially the twins, thought him to be a cold mech, emotionless even, but he did know how to comfort a mech or femme. Young Bluestreak was probably the most notable, and that was the thought he used as he petted the back of the emotionally broken Camaro, his thoughts trying to pull away from the fact that she was a femme throwing off waves of heat at him.

 

Petting her helm for a moment more, whispering soft-calming lies into her audio, and holding her close, Prowl slowly tilted his head upward, looking for the other mech in the room. Slowly, as his hand took up a resting spot on her neck, Prowl met Wheeljack's gaze. Then, like a ghostly whisper in the back of the mad scientist's mind, Prowl's comm. link invaded, -Get a sedative.-

 

He then started moving his lips again, whispering something to Bumblebee that Wheeljack couldn't hear. He had an idea it was something about protecting her, something that a logical mind knew to say at this moment.

 

Part of 'Jack wondered, as he slowly headed over towards the cabinets where he knew Ratchet kept the fast-acting serum, if Prowl really meant anything he said. Part of him never wanted to know if the tale of Firestar was true. He had had his fill of horror stories; he didn't need another dark novel filling the shelf of memories.

 

With a silent hand, the medic-at-the-moment grabbed a small vial, his wrist transforming open with a gaping hole where the vial would fit just perfectly. He slipped it into the slot and his armor quickly hid all traces of the serum, his fingering itching where he knew the needle would soon be coming out and meeting the yellow Camaro's neck tubing. She'd probably panic, escape Prowl, and maybe even get outside of the medical bay all together.

 

It wasn't like she was exactly restrained; Prowl was weak and in pain. He wouldn't be able to keep her still. So, despite the twitch of his fingers, Wheeljack felt his legs tighten up at the thought of the coming chase...

 

It was quick, an effortless move with Prowl reveling that part of her neck just perfectly.

 

The rebuke was immediate, and with a screech that stirred every circuit in Wheeljack's body as well as waking the sparkling from her slumber, Bumblebee pulled away, stumbling as her free hand grabbed at her neck. Prowl, surprisingly, made no move to restrain her. His arms just opened up like the wings of a hawk as it took off to the sky. He even remained on the floor, his optics watching her panicked moves. His only apology to her was that he would let her run until she collapsed, but then the race was over. No more hiding.

 

Wheeljack was not as giving. He started after her the moment her heavy feet hit the floor outside of the medical bay. She was fast; there was no denying that, even though her plastic veins now pumped with the medical infection of sleep. She was already running past Ratchet's quarters by the time Wheeljack took a step out of the medical bay. He threw one worried look at Prowl, recalling Ratchet's words of the SIC's suffering, but he still pressed forward. Bumblebee was a femme and her suffering was far more apparent and in need, despite how pathetic Prowl looked sitting there on the floor like a butterfly that had had its wings torn off.

 

\---

 

Bastard. Bastard. Bastard! He betrayed her. He had snaked his way into her fear of femininity and she, desperate and hurt, had given in like a helpless femme. Ugh, she was getting dizzy...

 

Slag. Slag. Slag! She wasn't even going to get out of the door, was she? She was going to be trapped in these walls for the rest of her life if she didn't get away now. She'd be Prime's little doll, his little princess with a round twitching belly.

 

Bumblebee could feel her processed energon threatening to rise in her throat at the mental image of Prime placing a heavy hand on her shoulder and another, softly, on her slightly rounded abdomen.

 

Why had she even listened to the enforcer? She should have fallen through with her smash and snatch plan but…She _had_ wanted to hear some soft comfort, some truth that her "family" weren't sex-raged savages. She had wanted to be touched in something other than a sexual way. She had wanted to cry. She wanted so many things before she ran away forever. She was wanting them so badly, it seemed she would get them all now, but not the thing she truly needed: freedom from herself.

 

She would be reminded day after day what she was: a femme. A weak little femme, and she was proving it. She was so helpless that she couldn't even see the monster that had been sent to capture her.

 

"How is my little femme?"

 

Bumblebee, processor barely functioning, slid to a halt, fear encasing her. No, anything but that. She'd take Prime and his huge form rubbing against her in the dead of night over the monster before her, not that she had much choice now.

 

The sedative decided to slam into her processors and she had little time before she fell to her knees, to look up at the talking shadows and the monster in them: a still black-clad Starscream, his form still wingless and tight in the shadows. He, with a simple step forward, reached forward and captured her like some dark twisted hero of the night.

 

He simply wrapped his arms around her as if he had embraced her a thousand times before and pulled her close, a soft mocking smile upon his lips as one hand traveled down and cupped her aft, pulling her up so her feet wouldn't drag and so that her spark was closer to his.

 

He offlined his optics for a moment, taking in her scent as her neck was pulled closer towards his olfactory sensors. He then kissed that neck softly, tasting energon and just a trace of sedative on the neck-cable. He then raised his chin and kissed her again, softly, upon the forehead. His fans let out a relieved sigh as he felt her heat slam into his form: she was still his virgin queen and the Autobots hadn't sullied her with their interface units.

 

Cupping her aft a little more tightly, Starscream bared his dentals at the coming steps. It seemed he'd enjoy her later. With that thought, he disappeared into the shadows of the base's halls. So busy were the Autobots fighting his men that they missed him lurking through the grasses and into the base like a lion which was about to drag off his nightly meat … or his mate.

 

\---

 

Wheeljack turned the corner in time to feel Starscream's gaze upon him like a ghost passing through a wall, but never did he see the frightening flier nor what was to become of the yellow femme. The night had stolen away the light of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the rather long absence. I retook up my Jak&Daxter obsession momentarily. Can't help it, though… Whenever I start getting to the end of one of my really long stories, I find myself dragging my feet because I don't want it to end quite yet. Well, don't fret, a few more chapters. I wrote out the final outline and it seems that there will be around four more chapters. Be brave young soldiers! Ta ta for now.


	19. Speak of the Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my wonderful beta, Litahatchee. It is an honor and joy to work with one so talented.

“What is that?” growled Starscream as he entered the underground base which Hook and his brothers had dug while the others were at battle. He liked the moon base far more, but was quickly reminded of the incoming Autobots that would probably shoot them down if they tried to exit the atmosphere. As soon as the slaggers hit the dirt, he was getting off it.

 

Blitzwing and Astrotrain both stalled in their conversation, the triple-changer shifting Sunstreaker slightly from the unconscious mech’s perch on his shoulder to the floor. They had just gotten back from battle, the Stunticons still riling up the Autobots. Hook looked up from the seeker he was attending to.

 

“It’s the yellow femme in disguise,” Blitzwing said simply, confusion rather evident.

 

Starscream’s red optics made the blackness offered by the shadows race away in a hail of russet. His lip twitched and he shifted the femme that was in his grasp slightly, his hand that wasn’t holding her up by the aft going to her lower back as if comforting a child. It was in that simple deed that all the mech’s suddenly noticed that the black mech was carrying something… or someone, a yellow someone.

 

Astrotrain caught on immediately, his deep laugh ricocheting over the walls. The large mech slapped the now ill-humored Blitzwing on the back of the shoulder and then laughed even harder, dust falling from the rock ceiling.

 

Blitzwing could only growl at his abuser, his optics turning to Starscream as his voice cracked in embarrassment, his hot-tempered side threatening to take him over, “Then who the slag is this?”

 

All the mech’s in the room leaned forward with quizzical expressions on their faces to stare at the unconscious and bound Autobot on the floor. Confused expressions were exchanged until Hook looked down at his patient, everyone following his gaze and the matching yellow paint scratches over the flier’s paint job. Hook had been patching up Acid Storm in the corner as two of his trine members –Thunderhead and Downpour- mocked him, just moments ago, about being molested by a _femme_.

 

“What?” said Acid Storm, his wings tightening and shifting, making his green paintjob seem sickly in the low lighting.

 

“Who is _he_?” asked Hook simply.

 

Acid Storm stared at the mech with distaste, growling, “It wasn’t like he introduced himself when he decided to molest me mid-air. Though that awful brother of his did say _Sunny_.

 

“How imaginative,” said Starscream sarcastically. “Throw him in the cells when you’re done playing with him,” he gave Blitzwing a pointed smirk. “I’d like him to know what I’m doing to his femme before I kill him.” The new warlord chuckled, a lustful look overtaking his optics. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I’m going to my quarters. I am not to be _disturbed_.”

 

He then turned, knowing every mech in the room was now glaring at him in envy. He’d let them have their turns, but his pleasure and the purity of his heir came first. The others could have her after, as long as they didn’t damage the goods.

 

Someone did speak up. though, “I don’t think that’s wise, Screamer.”

 

Starscream, just itching for someone to challenge him, turned around ready to give a lesson to the insolent fool. His glossa caught, though, when he caught sight of a taut shouldered Hook, his arms crossed over his chest and his stance wide, the imitation of a mountain. His body screamed for obedience. He was not afraid… medics never were.

 

Looking over the posture with shifting optics, the Starscream's free hand became tight against the back of Bumblebee’s neck, scratching paint.

 

“Don’t get audacious with me, medic. I have no warrants against ripping a healer apart,” came a low hiss, his fans starting as rage began to build with the heat. Damn that femme. His body was getting demanding with her aching heat pounding into his systems. It had been pleasant, but now his interface equipment had been primed for nearly an hour and was becoming sore. He wanted her and that slaggen medic would not be stopping him.

 

Hook didn’t even flinch. He actually cocked his head as if amused. Then, running his glossa over his sharp dentals as if tasting his words, or the flavor in the air, he continued, “You going to deliver those sparklings yourself, there, Screamer? What you going to do when you find out the thing has fused with half of her transformation clogs and you can’t distinguish the brat from her internals?”

 

A growl escaped the leader but he made no forward actions to show that he would listen.

 

“And even if you did save her, probably having to cut the sparkling in half, her spark would be in shock from the broken bond and she might never be able to produce again,” stated the medic, waving his hand in a horizontal sign language as if to show a cut.

 

Starscream, his logical mind finally collecting away from any vex toward the medic, stated, “What are you saying, Hook? I do not need a femme if she cannot produce.”

 

The medic snorted, shifting to a more relaxed facade, “Hmph. Of course she’ll be able to produce if the heat coming off her is any indication. You’ll probably knock her up in the first week, but before you start fucking her till she’s sore and your interface equipment overheats, I need to make sure this mech act she was playing hasn’t harmed anything… important.”

 

Trying to cool himself, the flier took in a deep expanse of air. Then, as if to show relenting, he grumbled, “Fine… but add some femininity if you plan on molesting her before I get to. Where do you want her?”

 

Hook’s optics dimmed. That had been easier than he expected, but then again the femme was delicate equipment. No leader would deny a specialist. Waving a hand towards the left, he growled, “Give me a while to set up some equipment. I don’t care what you do with her before then as long as it has nothing to do with overloading. Talk about your sparklings for all I care.”

 

Starscream stood there a moment, petting the back of the femme’s neck. He placed his face near her audios and inhaled a yawning gasp into his vents. The hot air around her nearly had its own flavor. If he opened his jaw, gears clicking; he was sure that his glossa would be able to taste that heated ozone. He could wait. He could wait as long as no one else touched her.

 

Growling, he stated in a heated threat, “If anyone touches her while Hook is preparing an examination booth, I’ll rip out your slaggen spark … after I rip your interface system out and feed it to you.”

 

There was a collection of winces from his soldiers, but he received no reprisal or challenge from the other Decepticons. Grunting in acceptance, his back turning to his men, Starscream’s form was drowned by the shadows. The only proof of his and the femme’s existence was the sounds of his heavy feet and his soft whispering promises into his future lover’s audio.

 

XXX

 

Prowl’s spark was skipping as he held the sparkling close, Wheeljack and his search becoming desperate. They had been looking for Bumblebee for about a half an hour now. Where was she?! She couldn’t have gotten far. The injection might have taken longer than he thought. She hadn’t gotten outside, had she?

 

The mech shook his head, not wanting to even consider it. Maybe he should call Prime. Then again, if the transmission was intercepted by the enemy forces… Wait, speaking of enemies. Where was the noise? Where were the gunshots? Where was the battle? Had it stopped and his panicked CPU  hadn't even noticed ?

 

A feeling of dread filled his systems and Prowl found himself pulling X-bot a little closer, wishing he had a compartment to keep her in much like the Decepticon Barricade did for Frenzy. He could move faster and not be worried about her being seen.

 

Cursing himself, he picked up the pace only to slide to a halt as he heard voices in the next corridor. He was about to slide into Hound’s room and hide the little femme under his berth, or something of that nature, when his battle computer stalled him after he heard a familiar cry of pain.

 

Sideswipe …

 

He opened the door in a hurry and ushered the little femme in, locking the door behind her, optics glowing like two dying stars in the void. He knew it was stupid to even consider a battle, Ratchet having turned off his primary weapons, but he still had his wrist blades. The weapons slid out without a second thought. His battle computer was praying against it, but it did not stall him as he crept against the wall. Nonetheless, Sideswipe’s screams echoed down the hall, pleading, making Prowl’s systems squeal in distress. He would not lose another companion. The twins might have caused him hell but they were his twins, his old hellions, a sense of calm in his tortured spark.

 

Going on instinct more than programming, Prowl lashed out as a form came around the corner. There was a sickening crunch as metal slammed into metal, a grunt echoing over the halls before Prowl found himself slammed against the wall by a huge force. Acting in survival mode and fear because Sideswipe’s cries had gone silent, he brought up his second blade, ready to impale the competitor when a green-yellow hand lashed out, gripping his wrist.

 

“Slaggen glitch! Not my cannon!”

 

“Wooh, Prowl, that’s badass!”

 

“Prowl, what the slag are you doing?!”

 

His optics blinking in and out, as if to reset his systems, Prowl had to look over the scene, trying not to let his CPU crash. His right wrist blade was implanted into the metal of one of Ironhide’s forearms, the black mech’s other arm pressed against Prowl’s neck and Ratchet was holding the enforcer’s spare arm, a shocked Sideswipe’s optics wide as he was held around the middle by the medic so he couldn't concoct an escape. The red mech’s optics were far away, noticeably distressed, but the other two merely seemed shocked.

 

“What the slag is wrong with you?” growled Ironhide as he let go of the tactician’s neck, Prowl simultaneously pulling his blade out of his companion, making Ironhide hiss but do little else, a splatter of energon hitting the floor.

 

“I didn’t realize it was you," Prowl answered. "I heard Sideswipe’s distress and acted on it,” he added, feeling the rare emotion of embarrassment. Slag, he felt like a trainee who had just pulled a rookie mistake with some friendly fire and in front of Sideswipe and Ratchet, no less. His luck was severely lacking… not that luck was very logical.

 

“Distress!” squeaked Sideswipe as he tried to wrestle away from a persistent Ratchet, a pained look and frail whimper in his vocals, though it was obvious he was still playing the tough guy act. “I’m not distressed. I need to go save my bro! Those slaggen Con’s took him. I can still walk on my legs just fine!”

 

“But you can’t transform after lemon-drop ripped you a new one and we are not making any half-cocked rescue attempts when it’s obvious they wanted your brother alive for something,” Ratchet huffed at the hellion and let go of the Second in Command, grabbing Ironhide’s arm quickly before the black mech could pull it into a cradling embrace. The healer looked at it with a critical optic before blatantly throwing it to the side and grumbling, “You’ll live. Now, what the frag are you doing out of the medical bay, Prowl, and where is the sparkling?” Ratchet seemed to blow a gasket as he choked, “You didn’t leave her with Wheeljack, did you?!”

 

Prowl instinctively took a step back, almost tripping on his own feet as he stated, “W-What would it matter if I had?”

 

“Because everything he touches explodes three out of four times!” growled Ratchet, dirt clods falling off his shoulder, still gripping Sideswipe as the terribly dented mech all but clawed at his holder. “Stop it! Your brother’s fine! They probably just took him as a trade-off for Bumblebee! We’ll get him back when our backup shows.”

 

“Why the slag would they want Bee’s scrawny aft?” whined Sideswipe as he continued to claw at the dominate mech’s arm.

 

Ratchet’s glossa caught, his optics going bright. Should he tell the young slagger? Would it be safe to tell the young mech? Sure, the front-liner would do everything in his power to get her back, but what after? Older mechs like him, Ironhide and Optimus would be able to control the instincts of their programming, but a young mech with an in-heat femme? The medic really didn’t get to think on it, though, as if by divine intervention, when an orange figure turned the corner, seemingly a little winded, his engine huffing.

 

“Oh, there you guys are. I haven’t found Bumblebee, but I found the sparkling chewing on some of Hound’s stuff,” said the orange mech, his audio fins going bright as a light blue X-bot clung to his shoulder bar, her head turning innocently to look at the returning heroes.

 

Normally, Ratchet would react to this situation by grabbing X-bot, threatening to pull off Prowl’s door wings if he ever left her alone with that idiot-genius again, but instead he choked, his vocals grinding out, “Bumblebee?”

 

Not liking the look in the other mech’s optics, Ratchet continued with a whisper, “This is either something we can use to our favor, or Primus hates us.”

 

XXX

 

It was a soft clinking noise, like a tapping drip. An irritating noise and someone was going to pay...

 

Before all her systems even came back online, Bumblebee was annoyed. It was something that just came with living on the Ark; she was surrounded by ignoramuses with death wishes. Didn’t they know that some mechs recharged around here? Primus, if it was Ironhide again, trying to repair himself so Ratchet wouldn’t strip him of his guns on the basis that idiots shouldn’t have dangerous things, she was going to throw him out of their lodgings. Screw him being her caretaker and twice her size, she wasn’t taking this slag.

 

Raising her head, growling escaping the femme as she readied herself to yell at Ironhide, her vocalizer sizzled into silence. Across the room she did not see her sheepishly smiling caretaker, but when she looked across the room –no, cell- she was met by not a cerulean pair of optics but a russet. Her cooling fans choked, and for a moment she was about to rush to her feet and flee when she heard a clank. Her optics, though unwilling to look away from the death stare with the red optics, searched for the birth place of the rattling noise: a chain on her leg, and not simplistic Earth metals by the look of it. Her gaze was frightened yet defiant as she looked upward.

 

“I’d rather offline than be fragged by you, Starscream,” she whispered, her optics becoming dulled to the point of blackness.

 

The downed flier, who had been tapping on the metal bars with one of his fingers, stalled in his operation of irritancy and tilted his head in a curious manner, a smile forming in the dull lights, “I was wondering when you were finally going to online. You’ve been recharging for a while now. I was getting worried that those Autobots put something other than a sedative in you, my sweet little virgin.”

 

Bumblebee felt the anger that had woken her slowly dripping away like water down a drain, her fear reclaiming its ownership on her spark. She tried to hold her unshaken disposition, though, as her optics roamed the small enclosure. It seemed that, thankfully, she was still on Earth, her cell carved out of what looked like rock bed. That was not entirely comforting, though, because that meant that there were fewer exits; she just couldn’t blast her way out of a wall.

 

“Please, don’t bother,” continued the leader. “There is no escape. Even if you do manage to rip your ankle out of that and through these bars, you’ll get lost in the dark labyrinth I have created. You see, if it were up to me, I would already have you in my quarters welcoming you to my more intimate parts, but you will get to know them well soon enough,” he all but purred, watching Bumblebee carefully for even a twitch. “But I will admit that my soldiers can be idiots. They plunged into the atmosphere without leaving anyone up there to fight off the incoming Autobots. There is no way I’m leaving the planet’s surface just to get shot down like a turbo-fox. Those slaggers have to hit land first.”

 

Slowly, he leaned in close, his red optics casting a rubicund glow over Bumblebee and the innards of the small cell that was little more than a berth and floor, “And who knows how long that will take. Autobots are known for being abnormally slow. I mean, they didn’t even notice

what was happening to the femmes until most of them were offlined.”

 

Despite herself, a growl escaped the Camaro, images of the femme Prowl had spoke of and her original caretaker coming to mind, “Bastard...Murderer.”

 

Starscream quickly pulled away as the femme threw a loose stone at his head, enraged. He leaned back down against the opposite wall from her cell, stating, “Now don’t go looking at me like that. I didn’t go and give any command to kill them off. I even told old Megs the ramifications of such an act if something happened to the Allspark, and I got an arm ripped off for it.”

 

“Should have taken your interface equipment,” she growled, fear and hate the only thing keeping her from breaking down into a pile of weeping metal. She had escaped everything, everything, in one manner or another. She would find a way out. She had to.

 

Strangely enough, instead of getting angry, the flier smiled, “My, it’s nice to know that you have a mean streak. I thought it was just a reflex, but it seems someone planted a little deception in you, didn’t they? Good, I do promise that I will make your life as comfortable as possible, beside the occasional sparkling sliding out of your systems, but you will have to put some of the lower Cons in their place once in a while; you’ll need a little backbone for that.”

 

“What makes you think I will remain here that long?”

 

The Decepticon leader tried not to smirk too harshly as he stated, “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the same thing that’s kept you on Earth this long.”

 

Bumblebee stilled... Sam? Did the slagger have Sam! She’d kill him. She’d kill him in his sleep if she had to. Offlining her vocalizer, she kept her mouth shut. He might just be playing with her, looking for a weakness to get what he wanted.

 

Still smiling, he continued, not even looking up at her as he drew circles in the dust, “When reviewing our first meeting, I was only focused on the fact that you were a femme and not what it meant in you being a femme besides being a producer. It had bothered me. I’ll admit my pride was a bit burnt as well, when you didn’t come crawling to me in heat. Then it occurred to me: the femme code. Yes, your body does need those reproductive programs, but first and foremost, sparklings and the young come over your breeding. That was why you came after that stringy little femme sparkling I had in my grasp when I ran into you.”

 

His gaze fell back onto Bumblebee, the humor and mocking lost from his face now as he coolly said, “I know you know where the sparkling is and though it would be inconvenient to have to raise her, at least she would know her place.”

 

A growl escaped the yellow Cybertronian, her form taking on an angry stance as she rose to her feet. “I’ll never let you or any mech touch her.”

 

Starscream merely shook his head. It always amazed him how almost animalistic femmes would become if a sparkling or youngling was threatened. Then, rising to his feet, he stated in a sickly-kind voice, “Don’t worry, I have no want of her… not now. She can’t produce yet, like I said. Which reminds me, now that you are out of recharge…”

 

“Let go!” all but cried the yellow femme in hysteria as she was dragged out of her cell a minute later, after trying to claw the flier a new one when he had entered her cell, not liking the grin on Starscream’s facial plates as he all but crushed Bumblebee’s wrists.

 

A thousand thoughts spread through the femme's mind as her metal feet dragged across the base’s floor. H-He was going to rape her over and over again until she produced fruit for him. H-He was probably going to drag her to the rec. room for everyone to watch and have some of the other mechs help spread her legs when she started fighting. Even from here in the hall, she could hear the cackling from many a mech's vocals and the faint smell of energon. Starscream was definitely taking her to the rec. room. No... She wasn’t ready, and especially not for Starscream. She would have taken the bloody twins over him. At least she knew they would… would...

 

The two of them walked right past drunk and moping injured, who were barely glancing up, except for a whistle or two of ‘tap that.' Perverts; though, at the moment, seemingly harmless ones. So, where the frag where they going? His berth?

 

The smell of cleaning solvents and soldering metals told her the truth before the grounded flier even opened the door; he was dragging her to the medical bay. Were they going to put those metallic breasts on her? At that thought, her struggling was renewed.

 

“Oh, calm down Bumble-bot. You act like I’m taking you to your executioner. Well, I guess Hook can be kind of scary,” purred the flier as he stopped, dragging her until she stood up straight, cupping her chin and pulling her close until her small chassis crashed into him. “Don’t worry. I won’t breed you until I know you are in good health. I know you won’t think of me as a gentle-bot at first, but trust me… If you behave, I will treat you well. You will have your own private guards, private quarters, the best energon produced … and no one will ever hit you and get away with it.”

 

She shook her head and tried to pull away from the much larger chassis she was now being held against, but her knees gave in as a wave of heat slammed through her and right into the larger frame. Starscream actually leaned his head back and groaned as the warmth simmered his inner workings. He suddenly bowed down, wrapping his arms around her frame, his head placing itself in the nook by her neck where he smelled her scent, groaning again into her neck.

 

The femme could only shiver at the proximity of the larger, male mech and the way he had pulled their bodies so close together. He was taking in her scent like a dog, his one hand that wasn’t pressing her against him cupped her aft, caressing it just slightly. Her cod piece and the wires beneath it were on fire. Her body was rearing to go, to taste this mech so close that wanted her.

 

She was disgusted by herself.

 

Starscream must have known this as well because he groaned again, but this time in disappointment as he pulled his head away, looking over her. His voice was deep and lust-filled as he spoke, “Oh my Bumble-bot. You’re body is just rearing to go, so hot it could melt wires, and I’d take you right here in this hall … if I wasn’t such a patient mech.”

 

Bumblebee hissed as he rubbed a large hand over her aft, almost lifting her up with his superior structure. He then used his advantage over her to start rubbing circles near a sensitive hip joint. That was all it took for her need to run to explode; if she fell into heat right now, Starscream might take it as an invitation. Bringing up a knee, she slammed it into his cod piece, glad that in this form he was shorter than in his flier one.

 

The amazing thing, as few mechs come to contemplate or congratulate about the human species –except for maybe an over enthusiastic Wheeljack- was just how alike the small fleshlings were to Cybertronians. So, with all that sensitive networking that made up the interfacing equipment, it wasn’t really a surprise that Starscream yelped and pulled away in pain, letting Bumblebee fall to the floor and roll away.

 

Of course, the difference between a human and Cybertronian was that it wasn’t as sensitive, the pain lasting only a few seconds compared to a doubled over guy that would lie there and cry for a few minutes.

 

I didn’t mean that Starscream was any less pissed about it, so he didn’t hold back as he managed to grab the quick-footed femme by the back of her helm and slam her head against the wall, knowing his hit was true and that she was out for the count.

 

Wincing as he knelt down to pick her up, he grumbled, “Now come along, you mean, little bitch. You have a date with the doctor.”

 

...

 

Hook titled his head, sensors on the back of his helm folding back for a moment as he looked at Starscream and asked skeptically, “What part of 'keep your interfacing equipment to yourself' did you not understand?”

 

The flier gave a low growl and continued to walk past the medic, placing the still form of Bumblebee on the berth. Slowly, he turned his form back to the medic, wondering slightly if he really needed the healer. Thinking of the green mech as a pile of rubble was very pleasant, but he decided against it. He would like to start breeding the femme as soon as possible. True, a few vorns seemed like nothing to a Cybertronian, but still, time was time. Even if she produced a dozen times in one vorn, it would still take at least two to three vorns to push the spark into an adult protoform.

 

“You want to end up as metal alloys for my sparkling’s first upgrades?” said Starscream, earning a growl from Hook. “Thought not. No, I didn’t touch her… She just wasn’t easily persuaded into coming for her checkup. Now, I’m going out to find a new alt mode; I’m getting twitchy in this inferior ground-pounder form.”

 

Turning away, his arms falling to his side, the war lord started to walk away, a single threat echoing over the catacombs of their base, “Hook, don’t let anyone else touch her, or you’ll know something worse than deactivation.”

 

Hook watched the leader disappear into the dull halls with his half dozen optics, his emotions indiscernible with his facial mask down, but he seemed to take the threat seriously. Slowly, he walked over to the medical berth and started strapping her down. If the paint scratches Starscream had acquired were any indication of her will to escape, the moment she woke up, she’d be a frizzing live wire.

 

Well, he better get started, shouldn’t he? Finishing the restraints, he then started to work with her systems and plugged her into the berth. A virus scan started and he quickly found it useless. It seemed that her systems had just been updated. Well, at least it looked like Ratchet was doing his job in that means. Her upgrades seemed rushed, though, not Ratchet’s work by any means. Her vocalizer looked recent as well and sloppily replaced.

 

Now, that was strange. The work was not predictable or consistent. How many hands had she passed through recently? It explained things, though, her trying to keep her gender a secret. Medics that did just minor work or specific upgrades would not notice or bother looking for gender.

 

He huffed. This was going to take a while to look over these inconsistencies, but from his talk with Screamer, or more Screamer’s demands on him, Bumblebee had been ripped open in the abdomen plating. It was not terribly significant compared to a chassis injury, but for a femme that was expected to be carrying soon, that plating would have to be in prime condition.

 

Placing a hand on her abdomen, he was about to press down and see if any of the outer armor was weak. He was expecting maybe a buckle from the metal, not an all out screech from the femme herself, her whole form suddenly lurching in survival mode, probably caused by her last online moments with Screamer. Hook, for the most part, just let her squirm and lurch and curse as he waited for her systems to adjust to her new surroundings.

 

It took about five minutes for her to realize that her new _love interest_ was in the room and that she wasn’t going anywhere. Her fear, now, was turned towards the only mech in the room.

 

Hook could only grin, loving the flavor of fear.

 

“Don’t worry about me. I have no want to breed with you. Sparklings are a lot of work and I have no desire to play daddy like some soft-sparked Autobot,” said Hook as he tilted his head. “Besides, I’m far too weary to reveal my spark to anyone. If you ask me, it would be ironic if you facilitated Starscream’s death that way. After a nice fragging, you rip out his spark. That was what a femme Con used to do when she was forced into any _activities_.”

 

A whine escaped Bumblebee and she found herself pulling at the restraints.

 

“Of course, that was when we had any femmes left at all,” he mumbled onwards as his arm transformed, armor on his fingers folding back to reveal delicate sensory equipment. “Now, let me see how those innards of yours are holding up. Starscream said he only discovered your sex after nearly gutting you.”

 

Bumblebee balked as those sensory hands started roaming over her, not even touching, yet she already felt violated. After a small grunt, he then flipped open abdominal armor as if he were merely flinging his wrist. She cursed like Ironhide when those fingers slid down into her abdomen.

 

The next grunt was not satisfied like the last, the femme giving a short cry of pain as he pressed a little too harshly on some soldered wires.

 

“What poor workmanship. I expected better from old Ratchet the Hatchet. He always took me as a medic that was impeccable with his work. Not as impeccable as Scalpel, being that he actually shed most of his body so he could get into impossible to reach places, but Ratchet also isn’t insane like that little glitch,” added the medic as he tilted the armor upward to get a better visual look. “It seems that there were impure metals used in you repair. Filthy Earth metals. Ugh, those will have to be removed.”

 

Reaching in deeper with his hand, feeling around, he was able to note just how close Starscream had actually came to killing her. That would have been most unfortunate. Suddenly, there was a gasp from the femme, a small sob escaping her, a heat exploding and nearly searing the sensitive equipment in the medic’s hands. He pulled out quickly with a small hiss of his own, looking at his hand for any melted sensory wires. He grunted. Minor damage.

 

Turning back to the femme, he could see the heat pouring off of her. Maybe he should have let Starscream have her if the Heat was treating her systems as badly as it was. Stepping forward, so now they were looking into each other’s optics, the medic stated simply, “You should have told me I was turning you on; it’s quite flattering.”

 

Bumblebee all but screamed at him, her vocals seeming to rip as his next words echoed over the room.

 

“Now, let’s have a look-see in that spark chamber of yours while that systems scan finishes up. Maybe we can overload you from touch alone. No need to waste good heat.”

 

Besides, it was his duty as a medic after all. As he moved to open the femme's chassis, her spark light bathing the room with its color, he briefly wondered if the Autobot medic would be able to do this with as much indifference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this seems rushed, but I really wanted to finish this story soon so it might just seem rushed to me being that I always have difficulties when it comes to the end: there are always questions left unanswered, holes despite my best efforts, emotions and thoughts never left fulfilled by the characters, and a feeling of slight fear of completion as if my child has just moved away from home. Either way, there are some other projects I want to focus on, but I won’t really let myself until I know that this is going to be finished.


	20. Opening Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, Litahatchee, and if you have yet to check out her work, I greatly recommend it. 
> 
> Warning: some swearing and sexual implications will occur in this chapter.

Bumblebee felt what could only be called floating, her optics barely online as she stared at her swinging arm.

 

Hook was carrying her out of the medical bay in a bridal-like carry. She was unrestrained, as she could do nothing more than cycle air. Her spark was sending pleasurable flares through her entire body with each slightest shift or movement.

 

‘ _It hadn’t been so bad,’_   her body kept telling her, despite the fact that her mind was screaming just how wrong it was, that she should be sick with herself.

 

Hook had overloaded her during his examination. It had been a wave of pleasure, devouring every node, so much so that she actually arched upward, her spark chamber’s glass pressing into the mech’s prying hands. He didn't even have to press very hard to get that to happen; he hadn’t even been very invasive about it.

 

Hook was merely poking around her abdomen, muttering to himself about supplies he would need and impure metals when he suddenly pulled his hands out of her innards, huffing at his nearly seared hands. He said that her heat was almost melting the delicate wiring in his hands and that there was no need to waste a good Heat. Then, with professional grace, he merely reached his two hands downward into her chest. She had expected it to be harsh or hard, but he merely cupped her spark chamber as well as he could and rubbed his thumbs softly against the glass, his other fingers reaching for the back of the spark chamber. Bumblebee had wanted to cry out against it, but her systems were farther along than it seemed and she overloaded a few moments later.

 

Now that she was overloaded, her body seemingly pleased with just being limp, Hook was taking her elsewhere, most likely done with his examination. Feeling the haze starting to disperse like leaves sinking below a lake’s surface, she tried to speak but only a soft moan escaped her slowed systems.

 

“Hmm,” said Hook as he suddenly stopped, the smaller femme’s hanging arm swaying slightly.

“Awake so soon? I was hoping that your first overload would keep you out for the rest of the day. Usually, especially for someone with as taxed a system as you, an overload would keep you out for at least a cycle, but no matter. I got all the work done I needed to. Surprisingly, I didn’t have to do as much work on you as I thought.”

 

 A small hiccup sound escaped her as she tried to shift, the fog slowly clearing and fear replacing the pleasured imagery.

 

“In fact, despite having to make some small repairs to where Starscream undoubtedly tried to gut you, you seem healthy enough to bare sparklings. Which I think is for the best. Your systems cannot take much more of the Heat’s punishment,” he stated simply, paying no mind to Barricade, whom merely eyed Bumblebee for a moment as the two went pasted.

 

Hook, nonetheless, gave him a look, stating simply with a gaze that the smaller mech couldn’t have her yet, not that he thought Barricade would be rearing for a place in line like most of the mechs were on base. The Saleen was a strangely nonsexual being, always had been… except for maybe with Blackout. There was no doubt in the medic’s mind that those two had had a fling and might have even loved each other, as much as a Decepticon can love that is; not that he was judging or, for that matter, cared.

 

The femme suddenly jerked, nearly causing the medic and her to crash to the floor as he was pulled from his thoughts of the mech now behind them. Luckily, Hook’s wide feet saved the two of them.

 

Not even glancing at her, he stated calmly as he tightened his grip, “Now, no need for that. There’s no reason to be afraid of what is to come. The overload Starscream will give you will be a thousand times more… pleasant. That is, if you don’t struggle too much.”

 

She tried to squirm in response, nearly yipping when one of his hands clamped down against her shoulder like a vise, causing her to clinch her dentals, “Slagger, I’d rather die.”

 

Barricade twitched at the femme’s echoing words as he watched after the two forms, Hook’s large mass blocking off most of the femme from sight. He was most likely taking her back to the cells, not for much needed rest or anything like that but because Starscream was, in the simplest of words, vain. He probably wept when he had to change into his human-jet form. So, being as self-centered as he was, it would probably take nearly half a day for the slagger to decide what form to wear for his evening date.

 

And that was more than enough time for Barricade to do what he needed to do...

 

Slowly, Barricade placed his hand over the compartment where he had once harbored Frenzy. It hurt to think of the small mech. It hurt more than anyone could know, like losing a child. He had even wept.

 

Straightening his spinal supports before anyone saw his moment of weakness caused by such thoughts, Barricade started to walk towards a shadowed hallway. Earch fell on his shoulders as he passed under one swinging light fixture to another, the shadows eating him in between until he finally stepped into the next shadow and never came out again.

 

XXX

 

The battle, for the most part, had calmed, but there were still stragglers and, being on the outer line, Hound felt obligated to make sure they never returned.

 

The Autobot grunted as he did some quick field repairs on his shoulder, the tree he was under offering shade and protection. It was an admiral quality of the foliage here. It was built not to only support the strong and large, but the stealthy, the fast, and the cunning. It also helped that Hound blended in well with the world, unlike his enemies who were bright and vibrant, or large and noisy…

 

…Which easily explained the Decepticon that was just afew yards from his foot, head smashed in from a sneak attack when Hound swung down from the tree he was presently perched under. It was quick, it was messy, and it was completely animalistic.

 

Many people figured Hound to be a calm and almost childish mech who fumbled and bumbled about with strange obsessions, like a favorite chair. Truth being, when in his element, he acted like one of the more violent animals he observed on Earth, ripping mechs up as if he had plans to eat them… which, he did have to cannibalize parts once in a while.

 

The victor gets the spoils of survival.

 

Finishing up his repairs with a soft grunt, Hound was about to stand up and head to the base. It seemed that the battle had slowed and he wanted to rally with the rest of his team and assess the damage. There had to be a reason for the Decepticon’s retreat… and Hound feared the worst. What could have happened? Had they acquired X-bot or had Bumblebee gotten off planet as she had planned? Though, he could try to be a little less negative about this. Perhaps, Primus had smiled on them and their reinforcements had appeared sooner than calculated. Either way, he had to get moving.

 

Revving his engine, the tracker started to run forward out of the cover of the foliage, ready to transform midair and race to their base. Yet, as he leapt like a puma from its perch on a tree, a sudden lurch of black dodged out of the cover of a nearby hill and suddenly the green mech found himself rolling with another body. He didn’t see who had jumped him, but the flash of red optics told him it wasn’t friendly, so he was already punching before the two of them rolled to a stop.

 

The other mech was unfortunately able to get the upper hand, though, and Hound soon found himself slapped down onto the hard earth. The mech in question was now mounted on Hound's waist and had the Autobot’s arms pinned down.

 

The jeep wasn’t much for swearing, but he figured that this was an opportune moment for it. “Fraggen, slaggen, whore-mother-fucken Con! Get off me!”

 

Barricade merely roared at the other, coolant dripping down onto the Autobot’s face, making Hound turn his head in disgust. The black mech remained there for a moment as well, blue fluid dripping onto the dirty-mouthed Autobot.

 

Baring his dentals for a moment more, the enforcer slowly sat up and shook his head, “Such a dirty mouth. I should rub your face in the mud until its cleaner than _it_ is, but I need your vocal processor in functioning order.”

 

Hound grimaced, trying to ignore the nasty coolant that was dripping down his face, “I ain’t talking ‘Con. You’re going to have to kill me.”

 

The tracker found his wrists nearly crushed in reparation, the green mech almost crying out though he did not utter a sound. His trembling fans were all Barricade needed to hear to know that he was successful in his disciplinary action. Of course, he didn’t think he couldn’t subdue the Autobot, since he could crush mechs half his size with his arms. He had upgraded hydraulics in each shoulder, which was why the mech never carried large guns or arsenal like his brethren. He simply didn't need to. He had unrivaled strength, though he wasn’t so ignorant as to take on someone like the Prime; didn't mean he was afraid of the lumbering mech.

 

Leaning in close again, Barricade’s words were dark and clinging like tar, “Typical, sentimental Autobot. Always want to go the hard way. Now listen carefully… What is your Prime’s comm. signal? Not… your Autobot signal. Not… your medic’s signal, because if you don’t tell me you’ll surely need it... Optimus Prime’s! I need to speak with him.”

 

Hound lay there a moment, a slightly dumbfounded expression on his face. Then, slowly, his optics started to brighten. Why would a ‘Con want Prime’s number? Thinking of it on human terms, it might be kind of funny, though he doubted the slagger wanted to ask for a date.

 

Was it a trap, then? He didn’t see Soundwave around, though if the mech were here, giving out the Prime’s communication signal could prove disastrous. It could be used to track Optimus in order to take him out when he was vulnerable, or if the rumors were true, he could try to hack into the semi’s very mind.

 

Revving his engine, Hound growled, “I ain’t gonna let you hurt our Prime. Now _you_ eat dirt!”

 

Barricade was only allowed a confused expression before he suddenly felt Hound’s waist moving upward and a pair of knees slamming into his back with such force that he was forced to flip over the Autobot altogether, landing on his back with a choke of his engine. Despite his instincts to move, he had to online and then offline his optics to realize what had just happened. He hadn’t just been dooped by an Auto-moron… had he?

 

The green mech suddenly wandered into his line of vision –the sky specifically- and grinned down at him before he pulled a fist back and stated all so cockily, “They always forget about the knees. Now, I’ll let you talk to Optimus Prime… personally.”

 

Barricade knew he was about to get punched in the face and then promptly taken as a prisoner. Though this was rather degrading as one of Megatron’s apparent elites, what really got to the mech was the thought that he’d have to have one or more optics replaced so soon again. He really hadn’t liked Starscream being so intimately close, so why would he want the enemy’s medic so near?

 

“Nighty-night.”

 

Slaggers … all of them.

 

XXX

 

He had been right. He had been fraggen right…

 

The Autobot slagger _did_ break one of his optics. In fact, he had broken two, and Barricade was rather positive that there were a few branches in his back from being dragged to the Autobot base. Nonetheless, Barricade sat there, almost innocently if one decided to ignore the energon cuffs around his wrists and the energon dripping down his face. His legs were draped lazily over the edge of the berth. He wasn’t growling, biting or even hissing.

 

His guard, Ironhide, found it far too suspicious. Maybe Hound had hit him harder than anyone thought and now the mech had some chips loose or something. Either way, Ironhide didn’t like this situation at all and would have liked to have been beating information out of him, or at least be breathing menacingly down the ‘Con’s neck, but Ratchet thought otherwise.

 

“Get out of my line of sight, Ratch. I need to keep an optic on the slagger,” growled Ironhide from his perch on a berth, one of his cannons half dismantled as the medic worked on repairing the damage Prowl had _accidentally_ inflicted earlier.

 

Ratchet gave him a dry glare and continued to stand in the larger mech’s line of sight as he welded some fine wiring, mumbling as smoke rose up, “There are nearly half a dozen Autobots in a forty yard vicinity. Even if he does try something, he’s not going anywhere.”

 

“He don’t have to,” hissed the mech as Ratchet slowly started placing on sheets of metal, the inner workings finally repaired to the cannon. “He’s probably going to grab X-bot and threaten to hurt her-im! HIM! Slagger.”

 

Ratchet shook his head at the small femme that was currently on the floor, recalling earlier when she came in and first stared up at Barricade with wide optics, a stuffed octopus in her arms. The medic had nearly crashed then.

 

The black and white tactician had put the femme to bed when Barricade was dragged in, bloodied and unconscious. Then she had been put to bed again two times more. The thing was, she didn’t stay there.

 

Somehow, she repeatedly escaped, not only the room with its locked door, but she had also managed to get up to the door controls and open the med bay. She would then just stare at the black trooper as if she had met him before. After her third escape and re-entry back into the med bay, Ratchet decided to just let her sit nearby.

 

It was disturbing that she was so skilled to even get in and even more disturbing when Barricade didn’t lash out at her during the femme’s appearance; he didn’t even seem to note her existence. The ‘Con only looked up once to stare at her and then he looked away, his hands rising slightly to the place where he kept that pain in the aft cassette. Ratchet made a mental note to see if the malicious mech had a broken bond. It wasn’t unheard of but sometimes, unknowingly,a mech would form a bond with his symbiot or cassette, and then would die a slow terrible death when the little creature offlined.

 

Decepticons didn’t usually form bonds. If a ‘Con did, he kept it to himself or risked being killed. Bonding was considered an Autobot sentiment.

 

Yet, despite Barricade’s almost docile actions towards the femme, Prowl had gone into battle mode immediately when he noticed X-bot had come into the room the first time. He tried to rip off Barricade's head when the Con looked at her. The medic knew –expected- the tactician’s emotions to be unpredictable from his usual nature, but that was completely unexpected. It had the type of air to it that a creator would possess when he thought his youngling was in danger.

 

Perhaps leaving X-bot with Prowl for the past day or so had not been wise, especially with such an unstable spark. Connections might form where they weren’t supposed to, such as a Caretaker/youngling bond. True, the little femme would need one since she had no creator to care for her, but Prowl certainly didn’t need the extra stress right now.

 

Hound had told them that Barricade had wanted Prime’s communication signal to apparently speak to him. Barricade refused to converse with anyone but the Prime. Ratchet finally sent the tactician out with Sideswipe to retrieve Prime. Sideswipe had finally clamed down, knowing that panicking wasn't going to get his brother back.

 

If all Barricade wanted to do was speak with Optimus, then Ratchet could arrange that. This whole situation would probably go easily and take remarkably less time for him to confess what he wanted instead of ripping it out of him… and then performing repairs. Ratchet wanted to ignore that all together.

 

Though, Ratchet now had an inkling about the black mech.

 

Their kind was small in numbers and, since Barricade seemed willing to communicate, that was always the first step in reformation. It didn’t happen often, but there were a few Cons, as the vorns drew on, who realized that Megatron wasn’t going to keep all his promises. The Prime might, though.

 

Thus, with a small hope of reformation, Ratchet felt obligated to repair him. If Prime could talk to him, convince him, maybe they could get the Decepticon on their side. It would help in their defense, as Barricade was indeed a cunning mech, and it might also aid in finding Bumblebee.

 

Barricade was a great tracker, perhaps even more cunning than Hound. Ratchet was hoping for the best.

 

Slamming the control panel shut to Ironhide’s cannon, he gave the weapons specialist the look that stated, ‘ _Don’t do it again, though I know you will_ ’ and waved the mech off.

 

“Get out of my med bay, rust bucket. Go back to monitoring duty and see if you can get back ahold of those idiots and see if they found Prime yet, and also try to contact our reinforcements. If the Cons showed up early, maybe ours did as well,” the medic said as he waved off the black mech.

 

Ratchet then slowly turned towards the berth the Decepticon was on… and the little femme who was now on the edge of the berth, scooting nearer to said Decepticon. She suddenly stopped, little optics staring up at Ratchet as if she had just got her hand caught in the cookie jar.

 

Ratchet’s lights actually came on in shock, his spark nearly freezing, Ironhide’s cannon transforming behind him. She had gotten far enough that she was just a few yards from crawling up to the slagger and getting grabbed, energon cuffs could only do so much. He didn’t trust the Decepticon, despite the positive thoughts he was trying to have about the situation. Barricade was still Barricade; the Con wasn’t just going to turn over a new leaf unless he felt he had no other options.

 

However, as Barricade turned his head from looking at the scooting femme to Ratchet, it became apparent by his expression that he was just as confused about the situation. At least Ratchet thought that expression was confusion… It was hard to tell with a mech that had such harsh features. It was a wonder as to what he looked like before the war. Autobots had added very little to their new designs except for thickened armor and weaponry. Cons had made their appearances harsh to be intimidating on the field.

 

Barricade had probably been a very good looking mech once with those wide shoulders and elegant door wings.

 

Shaking his head as worry dripped away, Ratchet grumbled as he came forward to pluck the little femme up, “She seems to have a soft spot for mechs in uniform. She loves napping with Prowl so, perhaps, she thinks you’re going to spoil her just as rotten. In fact, I think he was the one to give her that fuzzy imitation of a cephalopod mollusk.”

 

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t notice the way Barricade’s metallic lips twitched upward, trying to keep off a grin though slightly failing.

 

“So… you told Hound that you wanted to talk to Prime. Is that true? Because if it was about the little _femme_ , because I know you know, you would have already made a grab for her,” stated the chartreuse medic as he walked over to the Topkick.

 

Ratchet placed the squirming little mass into large, black hands, which immediately cupped around the little femme, who squeaked with much disproval. Ironhide quickly pulled her closer into his chest, throwing a look over the medic’s shoulder at the Con.

 

- **What are you doing, Hatchet? Prowl said that he’d interrogate the slagger after he got back with Prime** \- Ironhide sent over the communication link.

 

Ratchet gave the Topkick a slight nudge towards the door as he picked up a wrench off the berth Ironhide had been perched on, stating over the comm, – **You’d be surprised what mechs will confess while under the knife. Even Cons get nervous around pointy objects**.-

 

Ironhide rolled his optics and headed for the door, grumbling over the line before it went dead, - **Are you sure that it isn’t more _you_ that they’re afraid of and not the pointy objects?** -

 

Ratchet was very close to throwing the wrench, but resisted. He’d just bump up the slagger's next rust check. He knew the mech hated those. Throwing his enraged air out of his vents, he turned his full attention onto the black mech. Barricade’s lip component twitched almost immediately when he felt Ratchet’s full attention fall on him.

 

“Don’t you touch me, you slaggen medic. I can do my own repairs,” stated Barricade, already knowing the look.

 

“And I’m sure that you can… when your hands are free, which they are not at the moment,” added the medic as he headed for some nearby cabinets, opening the one that he knew had spare optics in it.

 

Ratchet tried not to chuckle too nefariously, as only blue optics glared up at him. The irony was that it seemed that Barricade was already conforming, if he wanted to or not.

 

Picking up the tools he needed, he walked over to the berth and placed the optics next to the mech, allowing him to see what color he was soon to be displaying.

 

Barricade actually jerked away violently, and almost fell off the berth, when Ratchet reached up a hand to touch him, yelling, “Slaggen no! You are not putting those damn things in my sockets!”

 

Ratchet pulled back slightly, eyeing the reluctant patient. He wasn’t afraid of the stout Con; he was just seeing what he could get out of this situation… and to call off the dogs. Wheeljack, who had been quietly attending to Hound's wounds, had stepped away from the rising jeep, hand still transformed into a welder and running hot. They were taking the Con’s actions as threating.

 

The Medical Officer waved him down, stating he could take care of himself. Then, adding some additional pain deadener to his arm supply, he turned back to the mech, stating, “Well, I’ll have you know, Con, that if I consider you unfit… there will be no talking to Prime.”

 

Barricade actually looked aghast but said nothing. He just glowered on his berth, hating that the medic gave him a smug smile.

 

“Good, now sit still…”

 

Yet, despite the warning, Barricade couldn’t stop himself; he pulled away with a growl as Ratchet laid a hand on the mech’s shoulder. He didn’t care if the healer was merely just getting a closer look; the medic was still far too close to his CPU. He doubted the Autobot was a mind reader like Soundwave was, but medics had a surprising quality of tearing things out of you, be it a few lines of code from a simple scan or by simple paint scraps you thought indefinable. He might have been willing to give one secret away today, but that didn’t mean he was going to give them all away.

 

“Stop twitching, slagger. I’m not going to puncture your cerebral casing just by looking at you, and it isn’t going to hurt either. Your medics might expect you to be a masochist, but I’m going to deaden the pain receptors before I push in the new lens,” mumbled the medic as he leaned in closer once more, invading Barricade’s personal space.

 

“I don’t need a deadener and I don’t trust you with a needle that close to my … ugh!”

 

The Con drew away with a snarl, bringing up his two restrained hands so that one could touch the side of his neck and rub his neck cable. It hadn’t hurt, per say, but it had been a surprise. He didn’t even see the medic’s hand transform or pull out the medical needle from his sub compartment. Slagger was fast… really fast. He’d hate to know what would happen if the healer wanted to kill him.  It would be so easy for a being that fast and that knowledgeable.

 

“So… you really want to talk to Prime, don’t you?” Ratchet said as he placed pressure on the mech’s shoulder, telling him to lie down so that he could pick out the glass.

 

Barricade reluctantly complied and allowed the medic to place his back on the cold metal. He did not like being this vulnerable, but if the medic was going to kill him… he would have done it already. He was curious and Barricade, despite how much his instinct told him to draw away, would throw the snoop a line if it got him what he needed today.

 

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” stated the black mech, his hands becoming fists as he refused the need to shiver when Ratchet leaned over him, small extraction tool in hand.

 

Ratchet frowned immediately, stating, “This optic was recently replaced… harshly. The metal is still showing burn lines. No wonder you’re so twitchy.”

 

A grunt was all the reply the medic got as he started to pull out pieces, a clinking noise echoing in their audios as he placed each piece of glinting red, energon covered glass into a collection tray. The healer allowed a few moments of silence before he spoke again.

 

“You never answered my question,” stated the medic as he increased the power to his optic, getting a closer magnified look to make sure there were no shards left behind.

 

Barricade grunted and then sighed, wishing he could place his hands up onto his chassis to remind himself why he was doing this. He’d always hated the ‘Bots, but there were some things that were older than his obligations to the Decepticons.

 

Sucking up his pride and vows to Megatron, a mech who was deader than dead anyway, his vocals softly replied, “Why else would I be here taking your personal form of torture?”

 

Ratchet chuckled, realizing that he had heard that same line from more than Cons. The most curious thing, however, was that he was positive that the Decepticon had not lied to him.

 

“What’s so funny?” growled the mech, trying not to wince as he watched the tweezers-like tool disappear.

 

Well, that was fast. Now came the fun part. At least it wouldn’t hurt as slaggen much as it did when Screamer put the lens in. Though, Barricade was quite sure that these lenses wouldn’t last as long as the last ones. He’d be plucking these slaggers out by hand, being blue and all.

 

“You’d be surprised how often I hear that line,” added the medic, taking up one of the blue optics and heating it. Barricade tried not to wince when the torch flickered off. “So, since you are under my personal torture, how about I badger you for some information?”

 

“Starscream doesn’t favor me as anything more than a babysitter; I have nothing of true value,” stated the black mech, wishing he could dig his claws into the berth when the surge of pain he knew was coming happened. He offlined his optic sensors completely, awaiting the jarring sting far too close to his memory core.

 

There was a sting alright, quickly followed by another one, but the pain was not as jolting as he was expecting, which was surprising enough. He then felt the medic place a cold fabric over his optics, cooling the glass without cracking it and soothing the throb that would still come by putting a heavy pressure over the stressed metal.

 

He was a little unsettled by how easy it was, but mostly by the lengths Ratchet was taking to make it painless as possible. The touching was almost too much to bear, but he held still, waiting for the pressure to be removed and for the medic to okay him so he could be thrown into a cell.

 

Though, as the medic released the cooling rag and made Barricade sit up so he could check and see if the optics had been popped in correctly, the ‘Con jumped as he heard a voice that echoed in his audios: “What do you mean by 'babysitter?'”

 

Onlining his optics before the medic even gave him the okay to do so, Barricade faced the mech that made him jump in shock. Every servo tensed. How had a mech _his_ size snuck into this room without making a sound? However, it wasn't the mech’s silence that bothered ‘Cade…

 

He had never been this close to the Prime without the mech trying to kill him. Barricade's instincts told him to flee. There was no way he could battle Prime and survive.

 

So, it was easy to say, he wasn’t so sure about talking to the Prime now. The idea had been sound at first, but now that he had the opportunity, Barricade didn’t feel so confident on the idea of talking to the lumbering giant. However, feeling a soft pang in the chamber that used to be Frenzy’s, he found his vocalizer and the courage he needed.

 

“What I mean by that is that I found something you may or may not have noticed is missing, and that I have no plans on being Screamer’s babysitter.”

 

XXX

 

...A placid black, like a dragging fog that went on forever, no suffering to be beheld.

 

It was a captured moment in time, that clinging fog that was birthed and murdered every day when the sun rose. It was an easily broken thing, thin ice that separates still waters from the raging blizzard above. But, the wind just kept pounding, taunting the thin, frozen glass of ice, until cracks were formed, the cold reality of the world seeping through in increasing amounts until…

 

Bumblebee finally onlined her optics.

 

She blinked, offlining and then onlining her optics again. It was not the cold pressing its way into her senses along with a howling wind, but a blur of bright yellow pounding on metal. She reset her optics again, feeling the last side effects of her slumber fade into wakefulness. Was that Sunstreaker?

 

"What’s with that grin, Screamer! How long are you going to stand there and mock me? Because when I get out of here, those new wings you’re sporting will soon be missing! You can’t keep me in here!” yelled the yellow form of Sunstreaker in the neighboring cell, his fists slamming into the bars once more so that the flier would know that just because he was caged, it didn’t mean he had no fight left in him.

 

Bumblebee, who had yet to sit up from her recharge, continued to lie there a moment as her systems rebooted. Where was she again? And what was Sunstreaker doing here? Who was he yelling at? She knew she knew, but there was still a fuzziness around her spark that she couldn’t chase away.

 

“I have no plans to keep you here much longer. You are just collateral, and once you have fulfilled your usefulness I shall dispose of you,” stated the flier with a malicious grin as he continued to lean against the stone wall across from the sunshine warrior, dust and granite falling onto his shoulders.

 

“Collateral, for what? No one uses me, Screamer. I’ll rip you to pieces before you try to use me as a pawn,” yelled the yellow mech as he stilled in his ramming against the cell bars, his form shivering off dirt as his engine panted. At first, the bars had looked rather feeble to the furious Autobot, but the panting of his stressed engine stated otherwise.

 

“We’ll see about that,” stated the Decepticon with his mocking smile, though his grin quickly ended and became one of lustrous happiness.

 

With a parting nod, Starscream slowly sauntered away from the banter with the yellow mech and towards his people’s future.

 

“You seem more relaxed, my dear; Hook has always been good with his hands… in more ways than one," stated the current Decepticon leader as he leaned forward, one hand gripping onto the bar and slowly sliding up and down in a very suggestive display.  "Though, it’s not a permanent fix.”

 

Bumblebee sat up and growled as best as her vocalizer would allow. The flier just smiled and pumped his fist a little faster, laughing in this throat at how such a simple human display would set her off.

 

“Now, don’t be that way. You know this can be done the easy way or the hard way,” he stated, turning a slightly mocking gaze towards the sunshine mech, who was now just standing there, his optics shifting from Bumblebee and then to the new warlord.

 

“What’s he talking about, ‘Bee? Are you going to snitch? Don’t do it! Remember your honor and vow as an Autobot. We never leave our own behind; Prime will come for us,” Sunstreaker declared confidently, his optics stalling on Bumblebee’s form.

 

Starscream continued to smile, one hand falling in between the bars as he used his forefinger to try and coax the femme towards him, even as he addressed Sunstreaker, “Don’t worry Muckstreaker.”

 

“Sunstreaker!” the crazed Autobot shouted.

 

Starscream was not fazed, his grin growing as he said, “What I want from our little bug isn’t… information. It’s something a lot more fun… as long as she plays nice.”

 

Starscream purred as he slowly moved for the door controls, the cell swinging open, and Bumblebee automatically backed into the corner. She threw up two fists, ready to fight like a wild cat.

 

Sunstreaker watched on, wondering why Starscream had just referred to Bumblebee as a 'she.' There were no femmes left, as far as he knew, and Sunstreaker's spark dropped when the thought occured to him that Starscream may be trying to play some sick game with the unfortunate young Autobot.

 

The flier sighed and shook his head, looking down at his pristine paint job and new alt mode form. He gave a dry look. Slag no, he was not ruining all his hard work. Unlike Megatron, he didn’t get as high in the ranks as he did because of brute strength, but because of his conniving instincts. He could get whatever he wanted if he knew what to say.

 

“Now, don’t be like that,” he stated, drawing in closer despite that fact that Sunstreaker was now yelling at him not to go near Bumblebee, punching the bars as if he thought he could smash through them like some kind of yellow Hulk.

 

“It will be much better on you,” continued the flier as he pointed at the yellow beast punching at the bars, “and your friends if you just _let_ this happen. You don’t want anything bad to happen to Sunshine over there, do you?”

 

“Did you just use me to threaten the kid!” growled Sunny, his pounding becoming more evident.

 

Bumblebee looked at Sunstreaker, fists dropping slightly in worry. She was no fan of the hellion twins, but… she didn’t want any of her fellow Autobots suffering for her. That was another reason she should leave. If she was gone, they’d be left alone. What should she do, if she got out of this Decepticon hell, that is?

 

So caught up with her thoughts, she balked when she suddenly felt a shadow fall over her, Starscream smiling down at her as his chest puffed out, his fans blowing hot air onto her.

 

Bumblebee didn’t know much about courting before the war, but Sunny knew… having _played_ with more than a few older mechs. He nearly plowed through the wall when Starscream brought out a hand as if to touch the back of Bumblebee’s neck in a sensual touch.

 

“Don’t you touch him! Don’t you dare! He’s still a youngling,” Sunstreaker felt his inner spark clench. No. Bumblebee was a young mech.

 

There was no way the young mech had had his first interfacing, which was important, and not in the sentimental way humans placed on it. There were programs that a young mech needed to get from his partner. He didn’t need them like a femme would, but he still had to get a proper download or he might be damaged from an incorrect interface. Bumblebee may never want to interface again if he found it more painful than pleasurable.

 

Sunstreaker was not known for being sentimental, but he had had more than enough partners already. He had played rough; he could take a cruel lover, and he could take a lover who liked to play sick games. It was his job to protect the younger mechs, even though Bumblebee was getting around the age to start interfacing. However, he wouldn’t allow Bumblebee's first time to be with that slagger.

 

Sunstreaker softened his voice, putting on false voluptuousness, as he leaned into the bars rather than beat into them, “Come now, Screamer. I know you’ve felt my hands on your wings before, hands of an artist… Wouldn’t you rather have more experienced hands and durable body than a little, dimwitted mech? Come on, Screamer… You know I’m a player.”

 

The jet that had been about to cup Bumblebee’s chin in his hand and pull her against his chassis, turned to the mech that was now staring at him with dimmed optics. Now, _that_ was a one-eighty. The sunshine mech –Sunstreaker- now had his attention.

 

Starscream's wasn't the only attention he had, as Bumblebee could do nothing but stare at the other caged Autobot in astonishment. She immediately realized what Sunstreaker was doing and she couldn't believe it. Sunstreaker was willing to sacrifice himself to save a fellow Autobot from such a fate. He was willing to give himself freely rather than have the same thing taken by force from a comrade.

 

Bumblebee realized that she didn't know another Autobot who wouldn't do the same thing...and Sunstreaker didn't even seem to realize that she was a femme yet. If he was willing to save a mech from such a fate, then surely he would do anything to save a femme...and so would every Autobot that Bumblebee had ever known...

 

Oblivious to Bumblebee's current thoughts, Starscream looked upon Sunstreaker lecherously. In truth, the sun-colored Autobot was rather good looking, with those huge ear fins that probably would make him purr for release if they were rubbed right, and a detailed body that could be pinned and ravaged as if he was a pleasure model. Yet, at the same time, the mech was certainly durable and could take some rough-housing. The front-liner probably liked rough-housing.

 

It was certainly a tempting offer and Starscream would love the opportunity to dominate the jet-judo idiot. The sunny mech did have nice hands. Maybe he wouldn’t kill him. He didn’t want to wear Bumblebee out, especially while she was carrying… He’d have to find _entertainment_ elsewhere.

 

That would be the second course, however; the first still needed to be tasted and enjoyed.

 

Showing his dentals, Starscream chuckled and pulled the shocked looking femme into his chest, before answering, “A tempting offer I may certainly take up on later, but I need an heir right now… not a pleasure model. And _she_ , though inexperienced, can give me an heir.”

 

Sunstreaker had to take a step back, shaking his head as he looked between the Decepticon and his soon-to-be bedfellow, Bumblebee. Sunstreaker misinterpretted the reasoning the Decepticon referred to the young Autobot as a 'she.' Starscream wasn't playing a sick game by pretending Bumblebee was a femme...If Bumblebee could give Starscream an heir and Starscream knew it, then that meant the young bot really _was_ a femme...It was a slap to the face, a cruel awakening.

 

Bumblebee was a femme… and Starscream was minutes away from ravishing her.

 

Sunstreaker's shock was short lived, though, as the slightly struggling femme was dragged out of her cell, crying, “No!"

 

He started slamming into the bars with the full force of his shoulders, so hard that his usually pristine body quickly started to dent. Bumblebee seemed to have been in some kind of shock through the entire exchange; had Starscream touched her before now? Now, however, the young Autobot started to struggle with renewed vigor, pulling at the hand that held her, screaming obscenities.

 

She managed to mangle some inner working to the warlord’s wrist and broke free. Bumblebee then tried to get to the release switch to Sunstreaker’s cell, but Starscream pulled her back into his chest with a clang.

 

“I guess it’s the hard way,” the Decepticon stated to the two Autobots as he started to drag the femme away with a sickening satisfaction.

 

Sunstreaker became so desperate to save his companion from this violation that one arm was reaching between the bars, trying to grab her hand, trying to save her any way he could. And Bumblebee had chosen where she’d rather be with her curse: the Autobots. The tips of her fingers desperately tried to grasp her caged companion.

 

But it was too late now…

 

The choice was no longer hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, cliff hanger! Wooh! Really, by now you all should be used to them.


	21. So Many Goodbyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to my loyal and ever helpful beta, Litahatchee.

Sunstreaker’s spark had been filled with desperation, horror, and sickness as he watched Bee being dragged away, but not even a second later his spark was stalling as if slammed against a wall. Was this what it was like for a human as they struggled through life, racing and racing, never enough time and then hitting a wall at the end of their short lives? If allowed to die naturally, Cybertronians usually went quietly, with calming ease as their sparks were claimed once more by Primus. They had lived long enough.

 

However, the way his spark had smacked against its casing, no doubt frightening Sideswipe wherever he might be at the moment, was not due to Bee’s circumstances but because he saw something slide out of the shadows behind the flier. The true jaunt to his spark was when said shadow seemed to climb up behind the warlord and then instantly onto the form of Starscream. Before the flier could even yell out, he let go of Bumblebee to grab the form climbing his lumber body. Yet, the mystery mech was far too agile to be caught by the lumbering giant and was up to Starscream’s neck, pinching wires in just the right place between the plating. The pressure was perfect, the aim was impeccable, and Starscream was down for the count; his red optics flickering.

 

The clang of Screamer’s falling body was quieted by the earth as dirt fell from the ceiling.

Sunstreaker was sure he was dead because there was no way Primus had heard his prayers to save Bumblebee. Had the god decided to spare him the suffering of watching the poor raped, impregnated femme be taken again and again?

 

Bumblebee’s hands were real, however, as she fumbled over to his cage, clicking like a scared sparkling as she grasped Sunstreaker’s outstretched hand. He gripped her hand tightly, making sure she was real as her vocals quieted from his touch alone, her armor still shivering in fear but relief was evident. Slowly, she turned to stare at the glowing optics in the shadows that now stood over a temporarily offline Starscream as if he was a prized trophy.

 

Though the mystery being hadn’t made a threatening move towards the Autobots yet, Bumblebee's door wings shivered in terror. She had put up a tough act, but now that she was free from Starscream’s touch, she looked ready to faint. She had almost been raped.

 

Sunstreaker convinced himself to stop scanning the camaro to make sure she was really there, grasping his arm through the bars. He decided to direct his attention to the third figure in the room and find out if it was friend or foe. It was wrong… something was wrong.

 

Those optics were both red and blue.

 

Deciding it would be safe to just presume foe and put up a defense, the soldier stated, “Bumblebee, calm down and open the door. Just rip the wires out of the control if you have to. It should be fine since you are out there.”

 

Vocalizer cracking as she seemed to work on instinct, mind still gone if the shaken look in her optics was any indication, Sunstreaker soon found himself outside of the cell. He immediately pressed himself in front of Bumblebee’s frame as if hiding her from sight would hide her from the mysterious fiend in the shadows that was eyeing them both silently.

 

Sunny knew that he was probably just as defenseless as Bee right now, but then again he had more bulk than her and he could take a beating. Bee seemed a little too out of it right now, one hand up by her chest, the other rubbing her arm as she tried to look anywhere but at the unconscious seeker. Said flier irked him as well, but for a different reason.

 

There was nothing to be done about the warlord, though. Sunstreaker had no weapons to kill the slagger where he lay, and it would be too loud and take far too much time to beat him to death or disassemble the slagger. That armor was thick.

 

A kick to the face would do, though.

 

Sunstreaker gave a hearty kick to the winged being’s head, the neck tubing making a sick squealing noise before he turned his attention to the mech in the shadows, his voice stern as he asked, “I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but who the slag are you? It’s hard to tell if you’re friend or foe with two red and two blue optics.”

 

There was a growl, a hand coming up from the shadowed figure and momentarily blurring out the blue optics as if he was ashamed of them, his red optics just gleaming.

 

“I am neither,” came a familiar voice, and Barricade lumbered forward, his form still partially covered in shadows. He was a haunting figure, cut between two sides if only momentarily.

 

Sunstreaker automatically went into a defensive stance, and Bumblebee’s wings went stiff before she pushed away Sunstreaker’s protective hand that was holding her back. She was still shaken up, spark pounding away at an uncomfortable pace, but she could still fight.

Sunstreaker growled in response, Prime’s worried words echoing in his head from his decree to protect the defenseless, but he allowed his arms to drop.

 

Bumblebee was a femme, but also a soldier. She was strong, but he wasn’t going to allow her to get any closer to the Con. She was strong… but frail in so many ways. She had this innocence about her that she must have hidden away all these vorns along with the gender of her spark.

 

He would not allow that to be stained.

 

“Barricade,” growled Sunstreaker. “What are you trying to pull? Why did you off your screechy commander? Trying to get the femme for yourself?”

 

The enforcer eyed Bee for a moment but his attention was mostly on the Lamborghini. He was the threat, not Bumblebee. The femme had a chance to kill him months ago before the Allspark’s destruction. She had not killed him then… She would not kill him now.

 

Yellow paint gleaming in the dim, Sunny growled throatily at the continued optic contact, “Over my dead body are you ever going to touch her.”

 

Barricade looked at the femme again, and then the yellow mech for a moment before a chuckle escaped his vocals, which then almost became slightly hysterical.

 

“What’s so slaggen funny?” Sunstreaker hissed.

 

The enforcer shook his head, his hand almost laying on his chassis for a moment before he slid it down to his side in a defenseless, almost casual, stance, “Bumblebee isn’t my … type.”

 

Sunstreaker didn’t seem to believe him, but then Barricade tapped his cheek near his blue optics, putting on a grim expression as he growled, “Besides, I owe your Prime and medic a favor. What do I need her for?”

 

Bumblebee’s spark had just started to calm down and, unlike her companion, she did not fear the 'Con. There was no gleam in his optics that other 'Cons seemed to have, and there was something different about him… She had never noticed it before but it was a feeling she knew she should recall. The first time she had come face to face with the enforcer was when she had pulled off the spectacular rescue of Sam and had a “droid death match,” if one had to quote the two teenagers on the circumstance.

 

That day, Barricade had been able to seemingly feel her during the chase wherever she went and for some reason when Bumblebee had stood to fight, it almost felt as if Barricade hadn’t really wanted to harm her too badly; he merely wanted the boy… To add to that, Bumblebee had spared the 'Con and to this day she still didn’t know why she had.

 

Stepping in front of Sunstreaker, Bumblebee’s door wings became proud as she stated, “You’re not my type either. So let’s get out of here.”

 

Sunny was flabbergasted and could barely protest as the young femme started forward, following the gleam of red and blue optics into the shadows. Despite his curse for her not to follow, the femme did and, despite himself, he found himself following as well.

 

Sunstreaker didn’t know why Bumblebee had trusted the other so quickly… Maybe it had something to do with being a femme. He couldn't help but be reminded of a story from human lore, something to do with Eve trusting the snake, following the devil into his dark embrace.

 

…

 

“Prime, I still can’t believe you trusted that slagger!” growled Ironhide as he came up beside his leader, the sun glinting over their metallic skin. It was as if the sun itself knew they were soon off to battle and wanted to wish them a fleeting moment of grace.

 

Optimus stopped looking in the distance towards the direction Barricade had driven off a short time earlier after their short discussion and deals were made. Trying to ignore the slight tint of foreboding of the whole situation, Prime glanced down at his companion. He slowly placed a heavy hand on the shorter, stout mech’s shoulder, stating, “I know you are worried about Bumblebee, but for some reason I don’t think Barricade would harm her.”

 

“The only reason he doesn’t want to harm her is because you promised her over to him,” all but yelled the black mech as he shrugged off the other’s hand, angry but far too familiar with his Prime to be truly enraged.

 

Ratchet followed after out of the base and into the sunlight, a little irritated as well but far more logical than his companion; he gruffly stated, “We don’t know what we promised him. Barricade said he just wanted a chance to talk to her before we hid her away. He wanted to make a request of Bee-”

 

“… and full pardon of his war crimes…”

 

“...he never said anything about wanting to ‘face with her, Ironhide. Besides, you and I both know that even if that is his intent… We told Barricade that it was ultimately Bumblebee’s decision if she accepts or denies his request.”

 

Prowl, who had also joined them, stepped into the conversation, X-bot curled up in his hand with her octopus. Her little optics were offline and she purred in her rest, which caused her carrier to whisper, “Besides, it is not a steep price. In fact, I think he’s the one getting the short end of the deal. If he wanted to breed with her, he would have had better chances sucking up to Starscream, not handing her over to us.”

 

Prime nodded at his second in command, Prowl's logical thought pattern comforting from his attitude of late; a soup of sorrow and depression. The large mech couldn’t help but wonder if it was the passage of time that had caused the return of Prowl’s calm disposition, or the little femme he dolled over with a faint smile. In fact, the tactician seemed far too reluctant to even give the small femme to Wheeljack... Not that he blamed him; ‘Jack had an uncanny ability to make almost anything explode.

 

At least the tactician was indestructible in that aspect.

 

Wheeljack, who had been behind the officer, cooed at the stirring femme that was passed to him before he promptly transformed, the little femme flawlessly ending up in the backseat and bound in her blanket.

 

Prowl then turned to his Prime, and stated in a serious tone, “We should be off then, Prime. If this plan is to work… timing is everything.”

 

He then turned to Ratchet and a nervous looking Hound, asking, “You ready?”

 

The medic shrugged, stating, “Just like any other day. I just will have to act like Sideswipe over there when you catch him in the act; a weeping sparkling.”

 

Sideswipe glared at the team’s medic; Ratchet merely shrugged, holding his swaggering air.

 

Prowl nodded and turned his gaze to Hound, whom had his optics dull like he was working on something. The green mech stood there a moment more and then nodded, stating, “Just making some final touches. This plan isn’t going to fail because of me. My work is always impeccable.”

 

“It’s going to have to be,” added Optimus before he took a step forward, his body starting its transforming sequence as he cried out, “Autobots, roll out!”

 

…

 

“No! That’s a horrible plan! I won’t survive a fall like that even if everything else is flawless,” Bumblebee growled, taking a step back in rage and nearly knocking into Sunstreaker. The bridge that Barricade was speaking of was high above rushing water, full of rocks and boulders that would kill her upon impact.

 

She flinched as his yellow hands reached out to steady her, but stalled halfway. Sunny had been acting like that since Barricade had started leading them away through tunnels that were dark and lightless, the three of them using their night vision to avoid any type of detection. He was acting like he wanted to keep her safe and press her into a hidden place, yet he held back… as if he knew to fight such instincts. He knew she was strong… or at least was trying to pretend to be.

 

She was so slaggen scared. In fact, she was so frightened that Starscream would wake soon, find her and stare her down… All she would be able to do was stand there like a convict before the gallows, accepting her fate. She shook off the thought as best as she could while she mentally told herself that she was not helpless. She was strong, and anything but a coward trying to run away. She still wanted to leave the planet, that much was true, but Sunstreaker’s selflessness before he even knew what she was reminded her of an old promise she made to a tall blue and red mech: she was an Autobot and freedom was the right of all sentient beings.

 

And that included femmes, right?

 

There were lots of Autobots with lots of faults and idiosyncrasies, but that one reason was why they were all Autobots.

 

She offlined her optics for a moment, forgetting Barricade was glaring back at her for mocking his strategy as well as the paranoid Autobot beside her. She wasn’t really scared of the fall, and she knew it. She was still scared of her fellow mech, but why? She didn’t know how petrified she should be or if to even be scared at all, especially from Prime’s loyal Autobots. Sunstreaker was not hurting her nor was he pressing his masculine energies onto her. He almost seemed impartial, his only forward emotion being distrust towards Barricade.

 

These last few minutes had been disconcerting because Bumblebee didn’t know how to act now. It troubled her, but not as much as Barricade’s reasoning. He wouldn’t just help Prime and the others by listening to a plan to save her, risking up treason if all went according to plan. Barricade had to have saved her for a reason. However, he didn't seem to be looking for something like interfacing in return at all.

 

Sunstreaker, who was glaring behind them now with a paranoid twitch, seemed likely to jump the enforcer for even offering the escape plan.

 

“Who even made this plan?" Bumblebee said. "I doubt the 'Cons will fall for it… and I don’t even know if I want to go back to Optimus and the others,” she admitted, trying not to note how Sunstreaker turned his head, giving her a betrayed look.

 

Barricade, who had been a little irritated at how she mocked his plan, sighed and stated in a voice that seemed far too knowledgeable for his cruelty, “What other choice do you have? Neutrals become empties rather quickly, especially if you are not just trying to feed yourself but a sparkling. How are you supposed to take care of one when you can barely take care of yourself?”

 

Bumblebee went a little stiff at even the suggestion of a sparkling and Sunstreaker growled, his offlined cannon whirling.

 

Surprisingly, it was Sunstreaker that retorted, “She won’t be alone! Bumblebee will have us to help her. Autobots aren’t like 'Cons. We all may have our faults, but at least we don’t attack our own. We never leave a mech behind. We’re a family.”

 

Sunny then turned to Bee, his expression serious as he stated, “And you’re not afraid of your family, are you Bee? Some may be afts about the whole … interfacing thing… but none of us would ever hurt you. And if anyone tried you know me and Ironhide would strip them faster than Ratchet could throw a wrench.”

 

His hands held no sexual tension and he placed them on her shoulder, their optics meeting as he continued, “No one would ever hurt you.”

 

There was a stillness, and Bumblebee actually wasn’t sure if she should feel comforted or upset. She wanted to believe that they’d never hurt her, but Sunny was already treating her differently; he had always been stoic to her. Now she was worried about losing herself to her new label. Would she? Would it really be a bad thing to be 'femme' Bee?

 

Barricade was the one to break the silence, grumbling as he transformed and maneuvered up the rock and dirt pathway, “How about you two love birds find another time to make out. My 'terrible plan' has strict time limits, especially with Screamer waking up…”

 

“What do you…”

 

A scream echoed down the hall, dust falling onto their armor as Bumblebee instinctively slammed herself against a wall, whimpering. Sunstreaker got into a low crouch and aimed his useless cannon in the direction the cry had come from.

 

When nothing came rushing after them, Sunstreaker turned his gaze to his current enemy, growling, “Why didn’t you kill him? My weapons are disabled, but you have no excuse!”

 

“Because you would be surprised how _effective_ a live seeker's mouth can be over a dead one's… It never stops whining, which is probably the only reason Megatron kept the slagger alive. If it was one thing Starscream knows how to do, is to spread a rumor and to gather the troops. More witnesses and the slagger likes the word ‘retreat’ far more than Megatron did. If everything goes as plan… there will be no _stragglers_ left,” replied Barricade promptly, a slightly wicked grin threatening to pull at his cruel features but mostly failing due to the sudden need for urgency.

 

Sunstreaker was utterly confused by the statement and Bumblebee was as well, shrugging her shoulders as she stepped away from the wall having gathered her wits a little bit. It was true that Starscream had the tongue of a politician when he wanted to but would keeping him alive really be worth it? He was really good at crying retreat, Sunny knew that from experience, but was being a loud, mouth coward really what they needed?

 

Hearing several engines roar to life in the base, Sunstreaker decided he’s unravel Barricade’s ploy later. For all he knew, Barricade and Screamer were interfacing buddies and the cruiser didn’t want his pleasure toy taken away by an Autobot femme. The more he thought about it… the more that made sense. Not that he was going to ask Barricade that kind of question right now. He liked his face the way it was and those spike the enforcer had were slaggen sharp!

 

After that discussion, neither Barricade nor his two rescued compatriots wasted any more of their resources on leaving the base with stealth at that. All of them transformed and blasted out of the base as if hell was on their heels. Yet, just as quickly as they all exited into the sun and its drifting horizon of red rock and sand, Barricade pulled a turning stunt that caused his brakes to squeal harshly. He actually created a complete circle, falling behind the two yellow vehicles, his text ‘to punish and enslave’ glinting in the slowly fading mid-day light.

 

Sunstreaker was about to transform and fall into a battle stance because of the sudden action, but the enforcer growled, “Didn’t you listen to a thing I said about the escape plan! I am still a 'Con. I will never be an Autobot. So, I am not ruining my cover for you… I’ll be chasing you like every other 'Con in this base. Though, when the time comes, you will let me slip by you on highway 42 near the West Ridge River on the bridge. The timing has to be perfect there.”

 

Sunstreaker’s engine growled, and he spun off when he heard the roar of jet engines coming from the distance, yet Bumblebee remained behind for a moment, ignoring the yellow bot's yells for her to follow.

 

She wanted to ask ‘Cade ‘why’, but he was quicker than her, his voice deathly as he growled, “This is your only chance for a semblance of a life. If you get caught before the bridge I will not be able to help you again… at least not until it's too late.”

 

Bumblebee kept that in mind as her engine ignited and threw her into the reddish dirt at ridiculous speeds to catch up with the Lamborghini. She still thought that there was no way this would work, that maybe the Autobots were a bad choice too, but Barricade was right… Any semblance of a life was better than what Starscream had planned for her. She knew Cade was right, just like her creator had been right.

 

The dirt suddenly turned into asphalt and Bumblebee couldn't shake the wonderment of what was possessing Barricade to help them, especially since it definitely wasn't in some exchange to get a chance at interfacing with her. She shook off the thought, trying to focus on the task at hand. She should be as stiff as Sunny in front of her, so ridged and battle-ready that his shocks even seemed hard set.

 

But she couldn’t stop herself from dwelling. Anything was better than bearing unwanted sparklings if this plan succeeded. She didn’t want to be stuck anywhere where she would forever be noted as the last femme either. What was far more unnerving, however, was the fact that she didn’t know if she could pull this plan off. It was fairly obvious now that this was 'Con inspired, since it was completely insane, yet Prowl supported it, given the technical timing and location that was required for its completion.

 

She was going to join the twins on their next prank on that tactician if she lived through this.

 

Though that seemed to be a dwindling option as time was creeping up on her, a coming period to its close. She could feel Optimus Prime pinging her, a gust of heavy wind nearly causing her to swerve into the black Top Kick that pulled up to her side.

 

Bee's insides stirred uneasily as Sideswipe slid towards the front of the collecting group, just barely nicking his brother’s bumper, which caused the yellow mech to growl over the comm. line, “About slaggen time you got here. I was sure that that enforcer was pulling at our tail pipes and this was all a trap!”

 

Optimus’s commanding voice fell over all their lines, calming the angry front-liner as Sideswipe pulled side by side to his brother, keeping close until he fell back onto the left. Ironhide had to break because of this, taking the rear behind Bumblebee and successfully blocking her in. Her tires twitched but she made no action to the sudden enclosure…

 

This was Ironhide. He would never hurt her. Of all the things she knew, this was a fact.

 

“Good to see you both are alive and undamaged,” came Optimus Prime’s vocals, Sunny sinking on his tires a little bit as he swerved a little towards his brother. The commander was much more careful with his next words though, gears shifting down in a grinding-like sound, “Bumblebee… nothing happened to you, did it?”

 

Bumblebee felt Ironhide nudge at her bumper, her own engine roaring in rage as she answered, mind recalling what Hook had done, “Nothing that I can’t live with…”

 

Optimus’s form swerved a little uncertainly by what she meant by that, fearing the worst. He continued calmly, though. If Starscream did get that far, Ironhide and Ratchet were there to talk to. It might impede on any desire to breed that she might have otherwise had, but at least she was with mechs that would keep her safe.

 

His exhausts billowing smoke as he picked up the pace, the Autobot leader took her word that she could live with it. He would trust that word long enough to accomplish their present goal, so he continued in a professional tone, “We will speak of that later, for now it is imperative that we keep on schedule. You must get to the bridge, Bumblebee. We will protect you until then, do you understand?”

 

Shivering on her tires, Bumblebee pressed on the gas a little more and rushed forward, the rest of the group following after, though the two larger mechs struggled slightly to keep up… The roar of jet engines seemed to be the real incentive.

 

Ironhide whispered over the comm. link, “Be calm, Bee.”

 

She was anything but calm, though, as Starscream transformed and slammed into the asphalt on the middle of the four lane highway, the asphalt pelting their armor as the three front Autobots dodged the flier. Starscream’s clawed fingers reached for Bumblebee as she dodged around him, his form turning and ready to take back to the air and try again, but Optimus found sudden speed. His body exploded in a mass of transforming parts and, before the new warlord could do much more than brace for impact, the Prime was sliding across the highway in a rain of sparks before slamming into the large jet.

 

The scream of metal and vocals crashed away from the moving party as Optimus and Starscream rolled into a nearby ditch, throwing up messes of grass and rock.

 

The cars around them immediately swerved and panicked, but not as much as Bumblebee as another attack from the sky fell down upon them with a cackle and an accent proclaiming, “Itz tine to play, little Autobotz! Haha!”

 

Sideswipe was able to break just soon enough not to become permanently indented into the pavement, but there was enough contact with the triple-changer’s peds to send the red mech flipping into the air. That did not stop the Autobot, however, as Sides transformed mid-air and slid to a halt, his feet throwing up sparks.

 

“I’ll rip off your wings for denting my hood, you freak!” yelled Sideswipe as he eyed his escaping brother and company out of the corner of his optic; Sides then added, “And then your spark for what you were going to do to Bee!”

 

Blitzwing chuckled, throwing his head back in a cool cackle before he started circling the red mech, paying no mind to the traffic that was squealing around them, trying to give the two metallic monsters room. The mech was insane, there was no doubt about that, especially when he used a German accent with a sing-songy ting to proclaim, “Vhy you jealouz meck, can’t even have a gilz night wif polish and pearlz without all you Autobotz ruining it! Fun killzar!”

 

Sideswipe was a bit taken back by the mech’s reply but really didn’t know how to follow up that madness, so he blurted out almost childishly, “Well… you still dented my hood Decepti-creep! … Especially the creepy part!”

 

The insane grin the mech was sporting seemed to suddenly vanish as if the mech had just changed his face, his expression becoming cold and detached as he revealed his long claws to Sideswipe, stating, “Oh, thatz the leazt you have to vorry about me little Autobotz. You zee… I like yourz opticz. Von’t be the firzt zet I collected. Vont be the last.”

 

Sideswipe barely had time to duck as those claws made a swipe at his face. Talk about bio-polar...

 

Farther down the road, Bumblebee felt her instinct to stop and fight nearly take over as they lost two of their party, but Ironhide nearly rammed her from behind, telling her in almost an angry tone, “Don’t slow down! If you slow down, you won’t make it to the bridge!”

 

She was about to argue when out of nowhere a hulking form slammed into Ironhide, causing the older mech to cry out in pain as the blue form slammed into the Weapons Specialist again. Ironhide growled, the shock having worn off, and slammed right back into the bulky vehicle.

 

Bumblebee was about to slow down and help her caretaker when a red sports car sprang out of nowhere between Ironhide and her, its red paint glimmering as he chuckled, “My, my, pretty thing. You got a nice pair of rims. The paint job is fabulous as well… be a shame to get it scratched. How about just pulling over and we’ll talk about this like the mature femme and mech we are… doctor's orders.”

 

The femme shivered, the 'Con's words bringing Hook to mind...and how his hands had caused her spark to cascade in sickening pleasure.

 

“Back off, slagger,” she growled, swerving to hit the nearly pristine mech.

 

Knockout’s brakes screeched and he narrowly missed being slammed into a road barrier. His voice was rather distasteful, “Slaggen femme, you almost scratched me!”

 

Breakdown, who was having far more trouble keeping a good Ironhide down now that the surprise was over, cried out, “Knockout, quit being so slaggen arrogant about your paint job! If you don’t get that femme, Screamer won’t make you a general like he said.”

 

“I slaggen know that, but it takes hours to buff out any scratches I might get and I…”

 

“Knockout!”

 

“You don’t have to scream!” yelled the mech, rather irritated with his partner. He didn’t have to take that. Breakdown was considered the nurse in their partnership anyway.

 

“You idiot, Barricade just drove past you!”

 

The egocentric doctor just noticed what the other meant in time to see Barricade’s lights turn on as he took up Bumblebee’s rear end. The ‘Con transformed right as the two of them hit the bridge, grabbing her bumper and nearly ripping it off with his clawed hand.

 

The femme screeched in pain and transformed, ready to defend herself from the enforcer, a betrayed look on her face because she did not recall this part of the plan. She looked over the edge of the bridge at the rocks way below. The fall would be death, or a crippling one at least. She couldn’t stay up there with the growing number of 'Cons.

 

Vocalizer humming in rage and a tinge of fear, she rose to defend herself. However, as soon as she put up her fists, Ironhide appeared in front of her, his form dripping with energon, both cannons charging. Breakdown, who slid in behind his companion Knockout, didn’t look much better. One of his shoulders looked useless.

 

“Back off, Decepti-punks, before I blast the lot of yah!” growled Ironhide as he eyed Barricade a moment more than the others. He understood that Barricade was supposed to make it seem that Bumblebee was going to escape all of them but had only told Hound, Ratchet, and Prowl exactly what he had meant by that. Why did it have to be a surprise for the rest of them? He knew that it was done that way to keep it more realistic and to keep the Intel safe, but he was still mistrustful. Was it a ploy? The enforcer just wanted out of the base...

 

… No, Prime trusted him. Prime was a good judge of character. There was no way…

 

Ironhide’s optics went white as he got the ping, barely having time to duck as an energon blade whizzed right past his head and directly behind him…

 

...into Bumblebee’s chest. The metal splintered, the seams giving way to weak inner materials, the blade delving deeper with the knowledge of killing a thousand mechs this way. A femme made no difference.

 

The look on Bumblebee's face was not one Ironhide would ever forget as he turned, feeling energon splattering his face, a look of surprise and shock in her optics.

 

Then, just as quickly, the blade was removed. Before the elder mech could even reach out his thick fingers and try to grasp her, the femme’s legs hit the back of the bridge’s barrier and she fell over...

 

There was a collective scream.

 

Ironhide didn’t know who all screamed. Maybe it was Bumblebee, maybe it was him, maybe it was Barricade in a rage, or maybe it was Starscream as he lived up to his name, having ditched Prime just in time to see the carnage from above...or maybe it was all of them.

 

It didn’t take a medic to know what had just happened. The blade was long and could cut through almost anything and, though the aim had been meant for Ironhide, the shot was perfectly aimed enough to slam into the spark chamber.

 

There was no denying it. Something had gone wrong with the plan...

 

...and now…

 

...Bumblebee was dead.

 

Ironhide's charge had died before becoming anyone’s trophy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, just one more chapter and this puppy’s done. Also, for those of you thinking she was going to get raped... Well, you were wrong. I decided to off her. XD
> 
> See you later. What can I say? I believe in bittersweet endings.


	22. It’s a Long Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, my great beta who has been a great influence on this story, Litahatchee, deserves some love. I recommend her stories any day of the week.

Knockout simply stepped past the black Weapons Specialist, paying the Autobot no mind. He looked at the water, noting that the Autobot’s medic, who must have been meaning to converge with the rest of the battle, was now wading into the water crying out the femme’s name. It didn’t take his medical knowledge to know that the action was useless, though.

The femme was most certainly dead. Her energon was splattered all over the black Autobot as proof.

Squealing his engine in a slight rage, the red Decepticon stood back and turned to Barricade. Said mech was looking down at his energon-covered blade, flabbergasted. Though it was obvious it was an accident, the red sportster couldn’t help but state, “You killed her, you stupid fragger… Starscream’s gonna be pissed.”

Breakdown, his form hulking so that each step seemed to shake the bridge, came up behind the flabbergasted enforcer. He slapped him in the back of the head, yelling into everyone’s audio as the black and white mech was knocked into Ironhide, nearly sending the two of them over the bridge as well, “You fraggen fool! We’re as good as dead now!”

The enforcer hissed back as he pushed Ironhide away, “It was the slaggen Autobot’s fault! My aim was true!”

“Starscream won’t see it that way,” stated Hook as he came up behind all of them and peered over the bridge as well, growling at the medic that was rummaging in the filthy water down below. It was almost ironic how many more medics the Decepticons had over the Autobots…Then again, Autobots didn’t have the gears to kill a medic of any caliber; it was an honor code or something.

“Starscream?”

There was a crash on the bridge, the whole structure shaking as rubble flew everywhere and one very angry set of optics glared out through the rising dust. Starscream sauntered forward, claws extending as he spared a brief moment to glare at Ironhide before he turned his attention to the enforcer. Besides the obvious size difference, the black and white mech did not cower; he stood up straight, showing he was not afraid, not even caring if Starscream noticed his mismatched optics.

The enforcer’s words were simple, “She’s dead… Lord Starscream. It was the Autobot's impudence that caused the mishap.”

The flier didn’t even bother to look back at Ironhide, who was presently waving his weapons around in confusion as he was bluntly ignored by every 'Con. Starscream kept his attention on his supposed sparkling caretaker. That title was lost now since there would be no sparklings, at least not anytime soon.

Claws flexing, the mech repeated, “'Impudence' you say… in what?”

“In dying,” growled Barricade, his blade refusing to draw back in.

“In dying?” hissed the flier as he took a threatening step forward, before he all but ignited into a vengeful ball of fury. “You have killed the Decepticon’s chance at success and survival! You are no longer a Decepticon! You are dead!”

Barricade tried to pull up his blades to defend himself but Starscream’s claws were quick, calculating, slashing at the neck cables and into the chest where the spark should have been located. Headlight glass and energon was sprayed upon the bridge’s pavement, and before Barricade even knew it, he was falling off the side of the bridge. A scream echoed from his vocals as he fell into the waters, waves splashing over the green medic below.

Ratchet did not care; he was still looking desperately for the femme. It was only a few moments after Barricade had fallen into the water when Hound waded into the water as well. The two green Autobots, seemingly having finally found the femme, pulled out the form of a yellow Bumblebee.

Her optics were offline and the energon could be seen floating on top of the water as they pulled her to the surface. Her chest was ripped open just enough that it was easy to tell that if her spark hadn’t been extinguished when she fell, the water had done so when it seeped inside her.

Starscream raged, flinging Knockout into Breakdown and finally into a mech called Dead End. The Decepticons all quickly picked themselves up, their red optics blinking as they wondered if they would be next after Barricade. The flier merely kicked on his cooling fans for a moment, energon-drool dripping down his chin from his wrath, before he turned to glare at the others, stating simply, “The femme is dead. Let the Autobots have the mudball!”

He sauntered forward, lifting a leg onto the bridge’s railing as if he was going to jump off the edge. Before making his dive, though, he turned to lean in towards Ironhide and stated in a soft voice, “At least for now… I will be back when the sparkling is mature. You won’t be able to hide.”

Then, leaving a grief and panic-stricken Ironhide, Starscream jumped off the side of the bridge, transformed a few yards above the water, causing both Ratchet and Hound to duck, before his jet engines blasted off and left the Autobots alone to their sorrows. He was going back to Cybertron. If one femme could hide so well, who was to say others couldn’t have done the same thing?

XXX

Optimus, who now had a nasty leg wound, limped down into the water despite the glare that was given to him by Ratchet on the opposite side of the bank. Who did the slagger think was going to have to clean out that wound before he could properly repair it?

Well, it wasn’t going to slaggen be _me_ , Ratchet thought to himself. 

He’d make Hound do it.

“I’m not going to clean it,” growled Hound as if reading the other’s mind as he pretended to pull the body closer in mourning. Said body twitched at the contact as they finished laying the body onto the sand.

Ratchet quickly gained a flat expression, resisting the urge to kick the now still form. They were lucky that Starscream had a fit and was gone already or they could be in a real predicament.

Sending a signal to Sunstreaker and Ironhide to make sure there were no more 'Cons around before  they rushed down there half panicked about Bumblebee, the medic turned his attention to Optimus, stating over the comm. – ‘Go under the water and find Barricade… Make sure you come up under the bridge in case there are any wandering optics. I don’t think it was the slagger’s plan to get hit too, but we don’t need Starscream knowing if he is still alive.’ -

Optimus stalled, turning his head just slightly as he waited for a signal from the rest of his soldiers that it was clear. Soon there was a Lamborghini on the bridge, roaring his engine as if stating it was a ‘go’. Nodding at the confirmation, the large Autobot leader, who the water was barely halfway way up on, slowly knelt into the water. A few moments later, he came up under the bridge with a bleeding ‘Con in his arms, hiding him with his back as he tried to peer at the wound the bleeding ‘Con growling, “I told you I’d make her death convincing.”

Ratchet made sure he and Hound were hidden a few minutes later before he hit the green tracker, telling him to reveal the truth now that they were surrounded by companions and soon the green mech was one of the few mechs that weren’t currently gaping because he had been in on the plan. Barricade had just sliced a few cables to cause some bleeding, not killed the femme. Hound shrugged his head at the cruel ruse and turned his hologram emitter back on so it seemed there was a gaping hole still in Bumblebee’s chassis instead of a small knife wound.

Ratchet, after struggling to look over both Bumblebee's and Barricade's wounds, nodded as he stated, “Good, Barricade wasn’t hurt too badly to need more than a patch right now and Bumblebee seems okay.” He then turned to Hound, “Now, Hound, let’s get these two some cover.”

Hound turned back on his hologram emitter and quickly disguised Barricade and Bumblebee as different Autobots all together making a barely standing Barricade growl in disgust. They could not be too careful while moving the two until they were in a secure location, just in case there was a hidden Decepticon watching them. Once Barricade looked completely like wounded Autobot, Hound bowed at his lovely craftsman’s ship, far too glad to be of such phenomenal use.  

Ratchet glared at the cocky Hound and then at a struggling Barricade who seemed to want to get out of the hologram emitter’s range; the medic still needed to do repairs on the slagger and found himself promptly yelling at the technically captured Barricade, “Stop struggling, Barricade! You are supposed to be an Autobot.”

The ‘Con, who was stiff in Optimus’s arms since he could barely stand on his own, suddenly seemed exhausted, which was probably why he at least bothered to put on a show while they were moved into a nearby cluster of storage units for cover.

A few minutes later, when all of the Autobots had come together, Hound’s holograms –which he was renowned for and their life likeness- dropped and revealed a maimed Barricade and a not-stabbed Bumblebee. Everyone who had seen earlier gave a whole new chorus of gasps, Ironhide specifically.

Barricade, however, was in on the plan all along… except for the him-getting-maimed part probably. Since he was the one who was supposed to make the killing blow, to make all of the Decepticons and even most of the Autobots believe he killed the femme, he merely made it look like he stabbed her. He definitely cut her, hitting an energon line in her chest where he knew a lot of energon would spurt out, making it look like a killing stab wound from a distance, but he didn't stab her that thoroughly. They had to make it as real as possible and since Ironhide wasn't in on the plan at all, his reaction was better than they could have hoped for, solidifying the shock for both Autobot and Decepticon alike.

A very frightened but relieved Ironhide didn't question the motives to keep him out of the loop as he gathered Bumblebee in his arms and hugged her as if he was never going to let go, trying to comfort both her and himself from the shock of it all.

Sunstreaker didn’t seem very calm with the issue, though. He paced back and forth as he eyed Barricade, who was checking the wound in his chassis, not letting Ratchet near, so the medic was caring for Optimus’s leg as said medic continuously sent glares in Barricade’s direction.

“We should have been let in on this plan. Who cares about realism! How do we know this slagger isn’t going to betray us?” roared Sunny, who was pressed off of attacking the wounded 'Con by his brother.

“Why would I let myself get wounded too, if I were going to betray you? Why would I have done any of this?” Barricade gestured as widely as his wounds would allow before turning back to his repairs.

Sunstreaker glared at Barricade suspiciously, turning his attention to Optimus, asking in almost a growl, “What did you give him, Optimus? Did you say he could frag her because I will kill him where he stands if…”

Optimus waved his hand, stating, “Calm down, soldier. I would do no such thing. All he asked was to make a request of Bumblebee …”

Looking over at the black and white mech, who seemed far too busy repairing major ripped lines to notice, Sideswipe asked Sunny’s question, “What kind of request?”

“You’ll have to ask him.”

Barricade’s shoulder’s relaxed again a nearby wall, finishing his repairs as best as he could so he wouldn’t bleed out. His hand was over his chassis, directly over the area where the compartment that held Frenzy had once laid. It was now ripped open for all to see, lines torn and bleeding from where Starscream had swiped. He’d probably never be able to carry another drone again, the chamber destroyed, but it was a worthy sacrifice if only for realism. Energon was lighter than water and, while he did cut an energon line in Bumblebee's chest, it wouldn't be enough to bubble to the surface so Starscream’s attack wasn’t a complete negative. A mech such as Knockout would notice the amount of energon’s lacking. However, Barricade's wound provided more than enough energon to be convincing for even that red twerp.  

The wound still sucked though; it looked bad, but it would heal in time. Since Barricade had the drone chamber, his spark was lower than other Cybertronians his size. Starscream likely didn't know that and Knockout didn't either, since he generally avoided Decepticon medics...all medics, really. So… he was now a free mech as well. Every ‘Con would think him dead.

All in all, she was worth a little lost energon though; Bumblebee was worth it. Those Allspark sparklings needed someone… Barricade could not accept such a burden. It would not be him; his hands were too soiled to raise the young...

Turning his head to look at the vapors that Starscream had left behind in his retreat into space, the black and white mech sagged in relief. He would speak to the femme as Optimus had promised he could do, tell her where a treasure laid balled up… He could not stay here, not with the femme so near. She was not as daft as the others. Femmes were always smarter.

Hopefully, he could be gone before Bumblebee would realize why she didn’t kill him back when he had nearly caught Ladiesman217. If Barricade had been able to crush the boy, as planned, this would have never happened. The _thing_ would have remained misplaced as it had meant to be years ago: the Allspark.

Damnable thing… All it brought was curses.

Regardless, Optimus had promised Barricade his one request and with the way the femme was eying him, it seemed that he would be getting his request sooner rather than later. All he would need was a moment, only a moment, and then back into the darkness to hide and be misplaced, to find a home to be alone and where no one would find him. It was a tragedy, really, but that had become their kind's way. 

Barricade pretended not to notice that Ironhide was eying him with contempt as Bumblebee went up to him, asking, “Y-you did all this … for me? I still don’t understand … Why?”

Barricade waved an arm, noting how the Weapons Specialist's guns twitched, stating, “Don’t you believe that freedom is the right of all sentient beings... or something?”

If the femme had a mouth, she might have frowned, continuing, “Your favorite saying is to punish and enslave, Barricade. I doubt that’s it.”

The enforcer hated how the mechs were all staring at them. He thought this was supposed to be a private conversation, not that he blamed them. They had just gotten their hope for the future back.

Regardless of the voyeurism-like stares of the others, he could say what needed to be said without any confessions, though he would have loved to get that weight off his chest. Pressing off that thought, he stated, “Call it debt fulfilled. You didn’t have to leave me alive after I nearly crushed Ladiesman.”

Ironhide acted like he had been slapped, stepping forward and between the 'Con and his little femme, barking, “You let him live back then! You know the only good 'Con is a dead 'Con.”

“Ironhide, Ironhide, calm down,” Optimus chided. “Let the mech talk, because we both know Bumblebee might very well still be in danger if it weren’t for him.”

Optimus stepped closer, making Barricade want to shrink away. It wasn’t that Prime’s size really made him nervous, but it invoked recollections of seeing comrades crushed. The large mech seemed to notice and lowered his shoulders to be a little less menacing.

Optimus remembered how calculative and strangely mentally competent the black and white mech was. On the drive up, Ratchet even tried to warm the Prime up to the idea of convincing Barricade to   switch sides… or at least go neutral.

Optimus could tell that Barricade was going to run for it as soon as he asked Bumblebee whatever he had in mind, and at first Optimus had thought it was going to be ‘frag me,’ but that seemed unlikely now. The Decepticon was actually trying to keep some distance between himself and the femme.

What could he possibly want to ask, then?

“Find a new alt form in case any 'Cons are still around and … follow me. I have a request,” Barricade finally stated, noticing all the attention as he eyed the others with his mismatched optics for a moment before taking a step forward. He promptly ignored Ratchet's cry of ‘let me look at your injury first’ and was now in a slightly dinged alt form, energon dripping from his form like a leaking water pump, the last remnants of water trickling down his form as well.

Ratchet actually cringed, muttering, “Idiot.”

Bumblebee gave a look at her commander, part of her still wondering how much freedom she had, horror still ringing in her head.

Optimus sighed, saying, “You don’t have to follow him, Bumblebee. You’ve been through a lot. It’s up to you, but we will be following.”

The femme nodded, a knot in her tank relieved. Looking around their surroundings, she noticed a parked car and, though hybrids weren’t her favorite, she scanned it. Soon, her form was throwing a sprinkle of water all over the others as she twisted down into her borrowed alt form.

Barricade wasted no time in waiting for the others, throwing up dirt and pebbles as he slammed his engine into a high gear. Bumblebee followed and Ironhide was quickly behind her.

Just as Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were about to transform and follow after, Optimus placed a hand on the yellow mech’s shoulder and stated, “Wait, soldiers. I know, Sunstreaker, that you have just been through a trying time and you seem worried about Bumblebee, but please head back to base. Tell Prowl that Bumblebee is okay; he has probably paced a hole into the floor.”

The yellow Lamborghini stared at the fading femme, looking very disappointed before he transformed, Hound taking up his rear.

“Oh… that’s going to be trouble,” grumbled Ratchet. “I’ve seen that protective gaze before, but we can worry about _that_ later. Ironhide’s fat aft is disappearing into the distance.”

Prime’s optics got wide and he chirped, “Let's go Ratchet. Maybe Barricade’s wounds will slow that 'Con down for us large mechs to catch up.”

Ratchet merely snorted and followed after the semi as Optimus raced after the Topkick, his heavy engine roaring.

Surprisingly, they did not go that far; across town, over a bridge, past a graveyard, and a dancing traffic cop, and they were there. It was as if Barricade had been planning to make this request as quickly as possible, and then get out of here.

Ironhide was not impressed, though he did find the traffic cop highly amusing.

“What’s with the abandoned hanger and the airplane…grave yard,” Ironhide said, kind of creeped out, not that he would admit it. Human junkyards of any kind were…unsettling, as if the dead were on display.

Optimus and Ratchet were soon transforming as well, scanning the area, and wondering if they would be ambushed. In the end, both the mechs turned their attention to the building behind the Decepticon, who seemed to be guarding it, his door wings spread wide in almost a defensive stance. Then, as if noticing his posture, Barricade’s door wings dropped and he slowly shrugged towards the hanger.

“It's … in there. I want you to take it,” said Barricade, his face showing emotion for a moment as if he was pained, ashamed. Then, just as swiftly, the emotion was gone.

The enforcer growled as Ironhide opened the sliding door, who then gave Barricade a suspicious glare.

“It’s in there and you’re scaring it, you bulky Auto-freak!” Barricade said threateningly, wings raised. “Let Bumblebee get it.” It was obvious that he was threatened by the larger mech.

“No, I don’t trust you!” stated the black mech, fluid spitting from between his bared denta. “I nearly had my Charge taken from me hours ago to be… be _violated._ She’s not going anywhere without me checking it first!”

Barricade’s weapons almost were bared; Ratchet had onlined them because it would have been suspicious to have an unarmored Decepticon in the ranks.  A hiss escaped his vocals, “Stop it! You’re scaring him, you slagger!”

“Scaring what?” Ironhide hissed as well. “I bet this is a trap. You are probably…”

“Move, fragger! Fine, I’ll get him; I just didn’t want to wake him up!” roared Barricade, pushing at the larger mech, Ironhide nearly tripping over himself as he was slammed against the doorway.

The Decepticon then stomped into the room, only to slow his steps as he got further inside. Then, once near what looked like several large tool chests and tarps, the mech leaned forward and surprisingly started to click, soft and echoing like a lonely bird.

Slowly, there was a stirring, a soft click coming from the corner. Then, as if a weed suddenly popped out of the ground, a small green mech… No, no, a large green _sparkling_ , rose to greet the 'Con.

The sparkling looked towards Ironhide, who was flabbergasted, before suddenly hissing at him. The sparkling ran up to Barricade, who lifted him up, and he quickly slid his arms around the enforcer’s neck.

Ironhide could only blink. The little thing looked like a very moody monkey with four arms and… red optics. It was easy to tell that the sparkling must have once been a soda machine or something, but there were weld marks and metal sheeting where the spark was near. Obviously, medical care had been given, which was making the youngling’s already sharp features seem far more jagged than they were. If it wasn’t for the _Cars_ blanket he was clinging to, like a grumpy child being waked from a nap, he might have appeared to be frightening.

Slowly, walking past the surprised Topkick, the 'Con walked out into the sunlight, the sparkling’s optics going wide as he whimpered at the sight of so many mechs before him. Barricade clicked at him for a moment more before setting his sights on Bumblebee.

The femme actually took a step back in surprise. So, this is what Barricade wanted to tell her? A sparkling? Why?

Bouncing the sparkling so that the youth would pull out of the crook in Barricade’s neck, optics settling on the enforcer’s mismatched optics with a hand reaching up as if to touch one, Barricade optic’s met Bumblebee’s gaze. He stated in almost a sad tone, “I can’t take care of him and I sure as Pit can’t stay on this planet. And he won’t let anyone touch him but a femme since he’s so temperamental and he scares easily. He needs … someone like you.”

Slowly, he stepped forward and Bumblebee, not knowing what else to do, opened her arms. The sparkling shrank away a little. 

“Click to him… He’ll know what you are,” Barricade said. “He’ll recognize that you will protect him. I called him 'Dewbot.' I also was thinking of naming him 'Bulkhead,' but I won’t be his caretaker so it won’t be my right,” Barricade stated in almost a whisper. “He likes his blanket and sometimes I’ll play him some music before he goes into recharge at night.”

For a moment Bumblebee saw Barricade’s optics shutter as if he was about to weep, but he cleared his vocals and continued, “I’ve built him up with some stolen medical supplies as well as I could, but… he needs a proper upgrade.”

Barricade then got intimately close and slowly handed the sparkling over, clicking to him the whole time until he was nestled in Bumblebee’s arms. He next instructed Bumblebee how to properly hold a sparkling, “Now, keep your arm underneath his aft and hold your other hand on his back, over his spark. Its comforting and also, if attacked, it will give his spark extra protection and also, for a large sparkling, you can protect his helm by having him place his head under your chin or for smaller ones, in the crook of your armpit. There, you got it.”

Bumblebee soon found herself with a whimpering babe in her arms who was reaching out for Barricade, but the mech just kept taking a step back, unable to look at the sparkling as he stated, “There… That is my request to you. Take care of him. A femme knows best.”

Turning away from the sparkling that was now all but crying in Bumblebee’s arms, the 'Con was about to transform and leave when, finally, Ratchet spoke up.

Ratchet walked up to the inexperienced femme to show her how to place the sparkling’s head against her chassis to hear her spark, stating, “That’s it? You’re just going to leave the sparkling with an _inexperienced_ femme?”

“I trust her,” growled Barricade. “She has some natural instincts.”

But Ratchet continued, knowing all too well now, not to disregard a Cybertronian's sex by their physical form alone, “And that’s it? You were taking care of him just fine and I’m sure it’s not your first.” Surprisingly, Ratchet was embittered. “I know clicking like that. It’s not amateur. I was a medic long before the war and was in the youngling centers many times… It now makes since why Bumblebee couldn’t kill you. The spark knows.”

Barricade started to growl, fangs bared, “Don’t you say it, _medic_.”

“An old _femme_ should teach a young femme a few things,” added Ratchet, throwing his most powerful scans over Barricade, knowing far too well that it was unlikely that it would reveal anything but ripped energon lines.

With a growl, Barricade brought out her weapon, the chain slapping to the ground as if the 'Con expected to be attacked right there. Immediately, everyone took a step back, especially the larger mechs, all putting their hands up with soft words of ‘calm down’ and ‘now, now.'

It wasn’t until Bumblebee appeared in front of the now spooked Decepticon that Barricade did calm down somewhat. The younger femme spoke, almost hurt, “I-is that true? Are you a femme?”

Face component twitching, Barricade barked, “I... think you already know what’s true. Our sparks have a little more of Primus in them then a mech, so even if we don’t know… our sparks do.”

Bumblebee, having felt alone for so long nearly dropped the sparkling. Yes, there was X-bot, but she still felt alone, barren plains with nothing but sweeping grass and no one to hear your pleas but the wind. She… She had… Well, Barricade wasn’t her first choice, but everything wasn’t so frightening now. Maybe she was still in shock from nearly being raped, but she no longer felt the dread of rape. It was as if the knowledge of no longer being alone made everything a little better, though it really, really wasn’t.

This was Barricade after all, but Bumblebee couldn’t help but state, “I’m not alone…”

Barricade gave her a look as if she was almost insulted, stating simply, as if Bumblebee had heard it a thousand times before, “Of course… femmes have more wits than a mech.”

Bumblebee just stared at her for a moment in shock. Then, handing the sparkling to the medic, ignoring his squeals of injustice, her engine growling as she yelled, “I was not alone! I was scared and frightened and confused! You knew the moment we fought, yet you… you…”

“What? I didn’t show you my spark like a fleshy flasher,” growled the older femme, suddenly pressing the younger being back with her hostile presence alone. “We were at war. Sex does not designate companionship! Back off!”

Bumblebee, noticing the stiffness of the 'Con and took a step away, adding, “Don’t leave me alone… I-I know so very little about sparklings.”

Barricade huffed, her weapons lowered and calmed by the pure fear in the femme’s voice. Slowly, her shoulders sagged and she looked over at the large commander, hissing, “What do you want me to do about it? I’ll never defect!” Squinting her optics into a glare at Optimus, she also added, “Or be a brood mare.”

“They wouldn’t…” Bumblebee started.

“And how do you know?” Barricade almost yelled, baring her fangs. “I didn’t survive this long to die in such a way. I am a soldier and deserve to die as such!”

Bumblebee’s door wings fell. Though Sunstreaker did set her mind at a kind of ease, she hadn’t actually confirmed anything with her commander, except that they wouldn’t harm her or force her.   That didn’t mean he didn’t have expectations. She couldn’t help but look at her commander also. She needed a little reassurance as well.

As if reading her thoughts, both femmes' optics boring into him, Optimus stated carefully, “No femme under my care would be a 'brood mare,' as you so eloquently put it. I will protect and treat any femme with respect and care.”

“I hear a ' _but'_ in there,” Barricade growled. “When are you going to fuck her?”

Bee’s wings dropped, old fears rising in her chest.

Optimus, surprisingly, growled at the older femme, “No one will force her, especially not under my care. She can breed… when she’s ready.” Adding in a soft, hopeful, tone, he said, “I do hope she has many children, but we will cross that bridge when it comes.” He looked at Bumblebee, hoping that she would understand that she wouldn't be harmed and that he would give her all the time she needed. He then looked at Barricade, “The same goes for you, Barricade. No more running, no more hiding, and the sparklings will have…”

“Don’t dare command me! You are not my Prime!” Barricade snapped.

Optimus’s proclamation went silent and he shifted on his large feet, insulted, but not willing to lose the old femme so he remained silent as she continued her rant.

“I don’t trust you. Any of you. You may accept her choice not to breed at first, but then you will grow impatient with slow progress,” Barricade pressed, noting how Ironhide was suddenly behind his charge, whispering something to her in a calming tone. “And then I will take her from you.”

The cruiser then transformed and was out of there as fast as her alt mode could carry her, leaving all the party confused and slightly insulted.

Ratchet, however, couldn’t help but chuckle as he struggled with a whining sparkling that was ready to break down into a fit, “Well, at least she didn’t say she was leaving. There’s still hope she’ll come around.”

Optimus, the light gleaming off his armor, nodded his head as he, too, chuckled, “Yes, there is still hope. Now, let’s go home. Bumblebee… we have much to discuss.”

The femme tightened.

“For one, I’m sure Sam wants you to contact him; he’s been bugging Prowl. And … about your future. It may seem bleak in some ways, but please recall our belief system; freedom is the right of all sentient beings and Bumblebee,” he stated tone softening, “We would never hurt our brothers or sisters in arms. We are family. Never forget that.”

She could merely nod her head. A heaviness was still in her spark, but now it was supported by so many more piers. The waters would not be pulling her under, not today.

Not today.

XXX

Ratchet smiled at her. He wasn’t smiling at her because she was young, wounded, out of pity, and certainly not because she was a femme. He smiled because he cared for her… They all did. He was smiling for her in the silent way the medic always did for patients that had been through a trying moment.

He really didn’t want to do this, but it was part of his job.

Putting down his tools, the medic gave Bumblebee a calming look, glad that everyone was presently trying to find the new mechling who had run off the moment he put the little ankle-biter down.

“Now,” Ratchet started. “I know after such a traumatic experience this it is the last thing you want to talk about, and I didn’t want to ask Sunstreaker about something so private, but I need to know in case I have to take counter measures against… carrying. I can tell, without even looking at your spark, that it isn’t aroused, meaning that it must have been given a moment of relief from your heat cycle.”

Bumblebee went stiff, turning her head away, almost sick now that she hadn’t allowed Ironhide to stay with her as he had offered. She still felt somewhat nervous around every mech in the base except for Ironhide and Barricade, who wasn’t even here. Ratchet, however, had been very professional with the examination and this was the first time he had even strayed to the topic of her sexuality since they got back to the base.

Looking away, voice soft, nearly scratching, she whispered, “Hook touched me… and relieved my spark so I wouldn’t … melt his hands. Starscream wanted to, but Barricade never gave him the chance.”

Ratchet nearly crushed the tool he had picked up, putting it down once he heard the metal squeal, only to lift it again and fling it into a wall with a curse, barking, “I’ll kill him!”

Bumblebee flinched, wanting to melt away into the berth. She hadn’t expected him to react in such a way, but then he slowly calmed and asked, “And all he did was touch it? There was no sexual interaction?”

The femme shook her head, “No… and I’d rather not have anyone touch me there for a while… if you don’t mind. I-I don’t…”

The medic put up a hand, stalling her when he noticed the twitch of her wings, worry evident. His words were soft, “That’s fine. Just come to me if the heat starts bearing its,” she flinched again, thinking the worst, but Ratchet continued, “...for a coolant shot. It won’t hold it off forever, but it will make it bearable for a little while.”

She nodded, still feeling awkward, thinking the only thing she could do was… apologize.

“I’m sorry Ratchet…” she stated, optics turning to face him. “I never meant to hurt you or anyone with my secret. It’s just that… I.”

He quickly finished for her, placing a hand on her shoulder in the comforting way that he did for all patients that needed a warm word…though he was never noted for it over his good aim.

“It was for the best,” Ratchet finished for her. “It kept you alive and you were scared. It is understandable. Now, be off. A lot of people want to talk to you,” he stated, smiling as she gave him a nervous glance, thinking Optimus wanted to bear into her disobedience. The medic continued, “I hear Sam came by once he heard you were safe. He wants to see you… as well as the ankle-biters. Dewbot barely lets anyone catch… I mean, hold him. Barricade trained him to be a wild animal.”

Bumblebee nodded, landing on her peds, giving him one more look before she headed outside the bay. She stopped when she saw the first person who wanted to see her, and she wanted to see him too.

Sam was looking at the floor, eyes downcast. A sudden wave of guilt overcame her. She had been willing to leave him without even a proper goodbye.

She felt that, for the next few days, all she would be doing was apologizing… to everyone. She felt that she had scarred her family in some way by trying to run off like that.

“I-I’m sorry, Sam. You know I didn’t want to leave… I felt I had too,” Bumblebee stated softly, slowly getting down onto one knee as she brought a hand forward, running a finger tip across his cheek. The human slowly raised a hand in response and rested it against her finger, looking up.

Bumblebee almost drew back in shame when she noted he had been crying, probably for awhile. She _did_ kind of run out on him... She felt no apology would be good enough. All she could do was lean forward and slowly pick up the human like he was a frail sparkling, bringing him into a loose embrace. He slowly brought up a hand and grabbed her mouth piece, pulling on it as if chiding her, “I understand… but don’t do it again.”

She slowly nodded, feeling no words would do as the human continued, “Now, next time you have any issues expressing your sexuality, just ask for pink fuzzy dice or something.

Shaking her head and rising to her feet, she slowly started to walk forward… She needed to have a real talk with Ironhide, and then she wanted his support to speak with Optimus. That was something she was not looking forward to. She knew the large mech was giving her space, but his patience was not infinite. She’d have to speak to him about…expectations. That was the word he had used. It could mean anything…

Suddenly, the sound of heavy feet interrupted her thoughts.

Turning around, she saw the mech she was thinking about… running towards her. He had his gun drawn.

She immediately went stiff, fearing the worst. Perhaps Starscream had figured it out. He was coming for her… He was going to…

“Bumblebee,” stated the commander as he came to a halt beside her. Hound, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Wheeljack and Prowl all ran passed, the tactician stopping next to the Prime to report, allowing the commander to speak first, “Stay here with Ratchet and the sparklings in the medical bay. There are several Cybertronian signatures coming our way and we have to make sure that they are… friendly.”

He then turned, speaking with Prowl over the comm. as their long legs brought them to the door.

Bumblebee stood there a moment when Ratchet suddenly stepped out of the room, stating, “Come here youngling, we need to-”

“No,” she suddenly barked, turning as her arm that wasn’t holding Sam transformed into her gun and she headed after the others.

Only taking a moment to look insulted, Ratchet swore at her before giving chase. Yet, the moment they got outside into the sun, they were all surprised to see a red plane transform and come to a halt. There were four other vehicles as well, all bearing the Autobot symbol.

Prowl was the first to completely lower his weapon, asking, “Is that you Blaster? Report. Where has your unit been? We could have used you hours ago.”

A red mech that had transformed from a mini-cooper alt form with large speakers, laughed. He then stated, “Hola, Prime y Prowl. ¿Cómo has estado?

“… What?” asked Optimus, turning off his weapon targeting.

“S-sorry, still stuck on Spanish. Man, I thought it would be easier to get over the Mexico-American boarder, but humans can be awfully suspicious of vehicles in the desert… especially shiny ones like a certain blue mech I know.”

“I was not going to get dirty,” came a familiar voice, the visitors' designations all started popping up on the comm. links: Mirage, Tracks, Blaster, Bluestreak, Powerglide, and Trailbreaker.

“Tracks! Is that you?” asked Sunny, coming forward to one of the blue mechs, the two wrapping hands together as the blue Autobot continued, “Who else can always look this good?”

The two laughed and then the two groups suddenly started converging with laughter, hearty punches, and data exchanges.

Blaster, the unit leader, turned his attention to Prime and Prowl. He noticed Bumblebee standing in the doorway with Ratchet still in a defensive poise next to the young mech. He ignored it, though, knowing he’d know the reason soon enough.

“So,” said Blaster, smiling, “Tell me what I missed?”

Optimus chuckled as a curse came from the base, Ratchet trying to grab Dewbot, who was now running forward between the medic’s legs and towards the new mechs.

Dewbot stalled long enough to look the new mechs over as X-bot ran up to him, trying to steal back her stuffed octopus. Optimus shook his head, knowing all too well that the green sparkling had been Ratchet’s second focus after Bee, and was apparently just as good at escaping medical exams as the femme. He was further humored as X-bot hit the other sparkling and took her stuffed toy back.

The commander looked at Blaster, stating, “My friend, it is quite a story; one that our kind will not forget any time soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bittersweet ending, I know. A lot of you are probably disappointed because you were hoping for a pairing, but I myself believe in platonic love; which I realized means more to me as a person than sexual love. I really didn’t want the story to be remembered for a pairing at the end. This story was about acceptance of a person no matter their sexual affiliation and it was also about the acceptance of one's personal sexuality and the fears that come with it. There are also some political undertones there but if you didn’t find them … well, I’ll just let you be.   
> And about Barricade; yes, I’ve been planning that since chapter 6. For those of you that saw it, congrats. It also opens a window if I chose for there to be a sequel or a prequel for that matter. I have notes on both but I haven’t decided if I wish to continue.   
> Regardless, thanks for all the love and support. Glad you enjoyed. Good day and happy reading.


End file.
